UC-NRLF 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

GIKT  OK 


.   &. 

Rece  .190 

Accession  No.        82/00  •    Class  No.   %  4  S~~ 


THE 


OR  RULES 


FOR  SPEAKING  AND  COMPOSING; 


From  the  best  Authorities. 


COMPILED  AND   I'l  lU.IMll.l) 


E.  G.  WELLES,  A.  M. 


PMLADELPHlAs 

('):L\iL.U  n>it  THE  COMPILER. 


G,  L,  AUSTIN,    PRINTER. 


RECOMMENDATION 

By  iheHe\.  Dr.  Abercrombie,  Re\.  Dr-  Wilson 
and  Re\.  Dr.  \\>)iie. 

Messrs.  Potters, 

We  are  mucli  pleased  with  t\\e  Compila- 
tion published  by  JSlr.  \Velles,  eutitVed  u  TV\e 
Orator ''sGfUide,  or  U\\\es  for  Speakm«;  and  Coin- 
posing.^     T\ie  condensed  form  of  it,  and  its 
execution,  are,  in  o\\r  opinion,  ca\c\x\ated  to 
Tender  it  both  Vi\g\i\y  interesting  and  exteii- 
ai\eVy  \isefvi\ — And  we  cannot  but  Yiope  tViat 
t\iis/wor\t,  and  tbe  ot\ier  efforts  of  Mr.  \\e\les 
to  aid  our  yout\i  in  t\ie  study  of  Rhetoric  and 
TkUes-Lettres,  wiVV  be  followed  \\illi  t\ie  most 
Iciappy  consequences. 

Jas.  Abercrombie. 

James  P.  Wilson. 

Saml   B-  Wylic. 
via,  Marcli  llth, 


1)  Advertisement             -  7 

S,  General  Remarks  and  Rules,                        -  9 

3,  Accent,  Empnasis  and  Cadence           -  -10 

4,  (iesiure,                  -                            -  25 

5,  Remarks,  Sec.  Rules  to  be  observed  in  Composition,  33 

6,  Origin  of  Language,                  -  -       35 
7  Progress  of  Language  and  Writing,             -  36 

8,  OfT-isre: — Its  Characu                  .cl  Pleasures,  -       41 

9,  Style:  Perspicuity  and  Precision,  43 

10,  Classification  of  the  v-everul  kinds  of  Style 

11,  Simple,  Affected  and  Vehement  Style  and  *ome 

directions  for  forming  a  proper  style      -  47 

12,  Form  of  a  regular  discourse,  •       49 
13  History,                                  -  51 

14,  Philosophical  Writing,              -  -        52 

15,  Epistolary   Writing,            -  53 

16,  Fictitious  History,        -  -       53 
17  Nature  of  Poetry — its  Origin  and  Progress,             *  55 
IS)  On  the  Eloquence  of  the  Pulpit,          -  .56 


SELECTIONS,  $c. 

19,  Extract  from  Lord  Byron's  Cain — a  Mystery,  51 

20,  Collins*  Ode  on  the  Passions,  63 

21,  On  Cruelty  -o  Animals — a  Tale,  by  Cowper,  -            65 
32,i  Address  to  Messiah,  by  Cowper,  -      66 


CONTENTS; 

Page. 

523,  The  Powtr  and  Influence  of  an  Individual,  by  Pre- 
sident Nott,       -  68 

24,  On  Card  Playing,  by  President  Nott,  -             -  -       70 

25,  Mr.  Phillips'  Address  to  the  King  76 

26,  Othello's  Apology — Shakspeare,  -       86 

27,  Brutus  and  Cassius — Shakspeare,                              -  85 

28,  On  education,  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mason  -      87 

29,  On  the  necessity  of  learning  in  Ministers  of  the 

Gospel,  by  the  Rev.  P.  Lindsley,  90 
G.O,  Messiah's  Throne,  a  sermon  preached  in  Totten- 
ham Court  Chapel,  London,;  by  J.  M,  Mason,  D.  D,      93 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


Systems  of  Rules  for  Pronunciation  and  Composi- 
tion, are  generally  found  connected  with  productions 
which  are  so  large  and  expensive,  that  many  of  our 
youth  often  find  it  inconvenient  to  become  possessed 
of  them.  Hence,  utility  and  economy  combine,  to  ren- 
der this  little  compend  acceptable,  and,  indeed,  desi- 
rable, to  no  inconsiderable  portion  of  the  community. 
The  Compiler,  however,   is   aware,  that   the   Art 
of  Oratory  needs  no  encomium.  But  he  is  at  the  same 
time  as  well   aware,  that   a  great    proportion  of  our 
youth,  and  some  who  are  preparing  to  become  public 
teachers,  consider   this   an  art  of   but  inferior  conse- 
quence.   With  a  view  to  correct  thi<  mistake,  and  to 
diffuse  the  spirit  of  genuine  Oratory  anioiii;  the  youth 
of  this  vicinity,  and  excite  them  to  cultivate  the  talents 
which  (rod  has  given  them,  it  may  briefly  be  observed, 
that — Oratory  .or  the  Art  of  Speaking  and  Readingelo- 
quently,  has  been  considered  by  the  most  distinguished 
characters  of  every  age,  to  be  the  most  important  and 
ornamental  of  any  ever  possessed  by  man.    The  cor- 
rectness of  this  sentiment  will  never  be  denied  by  in- 
telligent and  scientific  men,  until  they  shall  have  for- 
gotten the  blessed  and  glorious  effects  which  eloquence 
has  produced.— It  is  this,  Noble  drt  which  has  pre- 
pared the  way  for  the  civilization  and  refinement  of 
the  barbarian;  it  is  this,  which  has  emancipated  mil- 


Viii  ADVERTISEMENT. 

lions  from  slavery;  it  is  this,  which  has  redeemed  in 
numerable  captives;  it  is  thin,  which  has  brought  re- 
lief to  the  oppressed  widow  and  injured  orphan — and 
it  is  to  this  alone,  that  some  are  now  indebted  for  their 
immortality!  Should  this  little  compend,  produce  a 
conviction,  in  some  of  the  rising  generation,  of  the 
importance  of  the  compilers  object,  and  induce  then* 
to  become  correct  and  eloquent  >peakers — vrrily  he 
will  hare  his  reward, — and  to  all  the  Patrons  of  ge- 
nuine Eloquence  it  is  here  most  humbly  inscribed 

By  the 

COMPIL 


UULES  VOR  SPEAKING. 


General  Remarks  on  Pronunciation. 

Pronunciation,  which  was  also  called  Action,  was 
v.onsidered  by  the  most  competent  judges  among  the 
ancients,  as  the  primary  part  of  an  Orator's  province 
— as  almost  the  only  source  from  which  lie  can  hope 
to  succeed,  in  the  Art  of  persuasion.  When  Cicero. 
in  the ;  person  of  Crassus.  had  discoursed  in  a  diffuse 
and  elegant  manner  upon  all  the  other  branches  of 
Oratory,  coming  at  last  to  speak  of  this,  lie  said,  "all 
the  former  have  their  elVect  according  as  they  are  pro 
nounced."  It  is  the  action  alone  which  governs  in 
sneaking;  without  this,  the  best  orator  is  of  no  value 
• — and  is  often  defeated  by  one,  in  other  respects,  much 
his  inferior."  And  Cicero  lets  us  know,  that  tliei. 
.Demosthenes  was  of  lit-'  -;un  •  opinion.  When  he  \va»- 
risked,  what  was  the  principal  thing  in  oratory?  he 
replied  ••  Action/'  ami  being  a-Ui-il  uj.;iin,  a  second 
and  a  third  lime,  \\  h:i(  \\  as  of  next  importance,  still  re- 
plied, -Action/'  And  indeed,  had  lie  not  judged  this 
;o  be  highly  n»-i  e-sary  in  an  orator,  he  would  never 
have  taken  so  much  pains,  in  correcting  those  natural 
defects  under  which  he  laboured  at  first,  in  order  to 
acquire  it.  He  had  to  surmount  two  very  formidable 
obstacles — a  weak  voice,  and  an  impediment  in  hi-: 
<peech :  the  latter  was  so  great,  that  he  could  not 
even  pronounce  some  particular  letters,  lint  the  for- 
mer of  those  defects  he  overcame,  partly  by  speak IHL 


10 

a*  loud  as  in  his  power,  upon  the  shore,  when  the 
roared  and  \va-  boi>tcrons---and  partly  by  pronouin 
lorii;  sriiteur*-s   as  he  walked  up  some  hill.     Both  ol 
these  methods  had  a  joint  eflcct  in  strengthening  his  or- 
gans of  speech  $  and  lie  also  found  his  pronunciation 
fo  become  more  clear  and  distinct  from  a  use  of  pel) 
bles  placed  under  his  tongue.  Nor  was  he  less  careful 
in  endeavouring  to  acquire  the  habit  of  a  becoming  and 
decent  gesture  :   and  for  this  purpose  he  used  to  pro- 
nounce  alone  before  a  large  mirror.     And  knowing 
that  he   had  a-n  ungracious  habit  of  shrugging  up  his 
shoulders  when   In-   -poke,  to  correct  that,  he  used  to 
suspend  a  sword  over  them  with  the  point  downward-, 
the  pain-  taken — such,  some  of  the 

many  eflorts  made  by  this   man — this  greatest  of  an- 
<  ient  Oratoi  rmount  difficulties  which  would  be 

-idei-ed  e\en  in  the-e  din*,  by  a  less  aspiring  mind. 
sufVn  icnt  to  discourage  and  deter  tV(vin  evevy  pu? 
in  the  lea-t  <  oMiM-rtod  \\itli  Oratory.    But  7ze  overc: 

.i\ — by  indct'an-ibh-  dili^nce  and  perseverance; 
and  under  all  the-  »  circumstances*  Jir- 

reached  th^  highest  pitch  of  perfection,  as  an  Orator 
amoni;the  anci'  I'liis  \\a<  atknouledged  by  the 

duct    of   his    ^reat    antagonist   and  rival    in  Elo- 

fpieiK  »-.  K*chitu" who,  hmini;  been  eclipsed  by  Pe- 

mosthenes  in  the  cause  of  Ctesiphon,  could  not  en- 
dure the  mortification  of  it  in  the  region  where  it  hap- 
pened, but  retired  in  disgrace  to  Rhodes.  After  hi? 
arrival  here,  however,  in  compliance  with  the  d< 
of  the  Khodiaus,  he  repeated  to  them  his  own  Ora- 
tion upon  that  occasion,  and  the  day  following  the\ 
requested  to  hear  that  of  Demosthenes-  --which 


11 

tie  readily  gratified ;  and  having  pronounced  it  iu  a, 
most  graceful  and  animating  manner,  to  the  admira 
(ion  and  astonishment  of  every  hearer,  lie  observed  : 
'•How  much  more  would  you  have  wondered  if  you 
-had  heard  him  speak  it  himself!"     To  these  authori- 
ties might  he  added  the  sentiments  of  Quintilian. — He 
says  that,    "  It  is  not  of  so  much  moment  what  our 
compositions  are,  as  how  they  are  pronounced ;  since 
it  is  the  manner  of  the  delivery  by  which  the  audit 
is  moved/' 

The  truth  of  this  sentiment  of  the  ancients  concern- 
ing the  power  and  eUirar  \  of  pronunciation,  might  be 
proved  by  producing  many  instances.  Hortensius,  u 
inporary  with  Cicero,  and  whilst  he  lived  next  to 
him  in  reputation  for  being  eloquent*  was  highly  extolled 
for  his  graceful  action.  But  his  Orations  when  publish 
cd  after  his  death,  (|uintilian  informs  us,  did  not  ap- 
pear answerable  to  the  reputation  he  had  while  living 
whence  he  concluded,  there  must  have  hern  something 
peculiarly  pleasing  and  fascinating  in  his  action,  by 
which  he  gained  that  character,  which  was  lost  VN  hen 
we  came  to  read  them.  And  here  indeed,  we  can  find 
no  instance  of  this,  more  prominent  and  forcible  tiian 
that  furnished  by  Cicero  himself.  Poinpey  being  now 
dead,  and  Civsar  in  uncontrolled  possession  of  the 
government,  many  of  his  acquaintances  interceded  with 
him  for  their  relations  and  friends,  who  had  been  qf 
Poinpey ?s  party  in  the  late  commotions  ;  and  amongst 
others  Cicero  appeared  before  Caesar  to  solicit  for  his 
friend  Ligarius — and  when  Tubero  became  apprised 
of  it,  who  owed  Ligarius  a  grudge,  he  appeared  to  op- 
pose it;  representing  Cicero's  friend  Ligarius  aswnwo;-- 


12 


y  of  his  mercy;  and  Omar  hims<  -  prejudiced 

against  him  —  and  hence,  lie  said,  when  the  cau.-e  was 
to  come  before  him  :   *•'  we  may  venture  to  hear  Cicero 
display  his  eloquence  in  this  case,  for  I  know  the  per 
son  he  pleads  for  to  be  an  ill  man  and  my  eneu> 
But  we  find,  however,  that  in  the  course  of  his  Ora 
tion.  Cicero  so  affected  Caesar,  that  the  frequent  chan- 
ges in  his  countenance  evinced  no  ordinary  emotion- 
of  mind  :  and  as  the  Orator  touched  upon  the  battle  of 
Pharsalia  which  had  given  Cti-Mir  the  Empire  of  the 
World,  he  presented  it  in  such  a  moving  manner,  tha.i 
Caesar  could  no  longer  controul  his  feelings  —  and  \\ii- 
thrown  into  such  a  paroxysm,  that  he  dropped  the  pa- 
a  and  documents  which  he  held  in  his  hands  !   Thi> 
>vas  the  more  remarkable,    inasmuch. 
himself,  one  of  tin  Orator's  of  his  age  —  all  the 

surt  of  address,  and  every  avenue  to  the  pa*-i»ms  were 
well  knovfti  to  him,  and  of  course  he  was  the  better 
prepared  to  guard  against  their  influence.  But  nei- 
ther bis  skill  iu  Oratory,  nor  deep-rooted  prejudice 
agaiu>t  lagariusj  -uftlcient  guard  against  the 

power  of  Kloqtience:  but  this  Conqnerer  of  the  World 
the.  (harms  of  Cicero,  and  contrary 
to  his  predetermined  -entem  e,  lie  pardoned  Ligarius 
\ow,  that  Oration  is  Mill  exiant  ;  and  though  it  • 
ly  appear-*  to  be  well  calculated  to  move  the  ii 
•ni>  and  snring*  of  the  soul,  yet  we  cannot  ilis: 
on  readini:  it.  how  it  should   have  bad  so  astonishing 
an  eftect  !     and  this  i  iVe<  t  must  have  been  principally 
owing  to  the  address  and  oratory  of  Cicero. 

The  more    natural  our  pronunciation  is,  the  more 
it  will  be  :  since  the  pe 


1.3 

in  its  nearest  resemblance  to  nature.  Hence  it  is  nat 
without  the  btst  of  reasons,  that  the  ancients  make  it 
an  indispensahle  Qualification  in  an  orator,  that  he  ap- 
pear to  be  a  sincere  and  good  man  ;  because  a  person 
of  this  character  will  make  the  cause  he  espouses  his 
own,  and  the  more  sensibly  he  is  moved  himself,  the 
more  natural  will  be  his  pronunciation;  and  of  course 
the  greater  will  be  its  effect  upon  others.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  reality  in  every  thin^;  excels  imitation  ;  but 
if  that  were  sufficient  of  itself,  in  pronunciation,  we. 
should  have  no  occa>ion  to  recur  to  art.  In  this  C;IMI. 
therefore,  as  well  as  in  many  others,  art,  if  well  ma- 
naged, will  help  to  perfect  nature. 

.Hut  this  is  not  all;  for  it  often  happens  that  we 
find  the  force  of  it  M»  great  and  powerful,  that  where 
it  is  entirely  counterfeit,  it  will,  for  a  time,  produce  the 
same  effect,  as  if  it  were  founded  in  truth.  Thi*  i- 
well  known  by  those  who  have  been  conversant  with 
the  representations 0f  the  theatre.  In  tragedies,  though 
we  are  sensible  that  even  thing  \\  e  *ee  and  hear,  is 
fictitious  :  yet  such  is  the  fascinating  power  of  action, 
that  many,  whose  good>en>e.  and  accomplishments  are 
worthy  to  be  employed  in  some  real  and  more  digni- 
fied scene,  are  often  affet  ted  by  it  in  the  same  manner. 
as  if  it  were  all  reality.  Anger  and  resentment  at  the 
exhibition  of  wanton  cruelty  ;  concern  and  solicitude, 
for  suffering  virtue,  rise  in  our  breasts,  and  tears  are 
>ited  from  us  for  persecuted  innocence — and  at  tin- 
same  moment,  perhaps  we  arc  ready  to  blush  at  our 
selves  for  being  thus  decoyed.  If  art  then  have  su 
great  an  influence  upon  us,  when  supported  by  fancy 
imagination  only,  how  powerful  must  be  its  influ 


14 


s  us  9-  just  and  animating 
sentation  of  what  we  know  to  be  true  ?     Hov 
able  it  is  bo;h  to  nature  and  reason,  that  a  warmth  of 

ion,   and  v<  y  of  motion,  should  rise  in 

proportion  to  the  importance  of  the  subject  and  anxie- 
ill  more  forcibly  appear,  by  look 
little  into  the  more  early  and  >impl»i  ages 
of  the  world;  for,  the  li  .  the  iu<  -hall 

find  of  both.     The  Romans  exhibited  a  great  share  of 
talent  fhi*  way.    ;md  tlic  d  ill.     lu- 

deed.  all  the  nations  of  the  east  excelled  in  it;  and  par 
Mat  divinely  favoured  nation,  the  Hebrews. 
Nothing,   in  modern  days,   has  equalled  the  *treni;tli 
and  vivacity  of  the  figures  employed  in  their  diM-oi. 
and  the  which  they  used  to  express  their  - 

:  such  as  throwing  allies  upon  their  head*  : 
tearing  their  garments,  and  covering  themselves  with 
aackcloth,  under  any  deep  di.-tre-s  or  sorrow  of  mind  : 
and  hence,  uo  don  I  -•  surprising  eflects  of  elo- 

quence  appeared,  \vhich    \\e   never   witness  now.  — 
A.nd  w  hat  is  here  declared  of  the  eastern  nations,  w  itli 
<  1  1  to  artion,  was,  in  a  great  measure,  prevalent 
with  the  Greeks  and  Romans  ;  if  it  were  not  precisely 
of  the  sume  kind,  it  was  no  less  vehement  and  e\ 
pn  --ive.     They  did  not  think  language  of  itself 
ne  height  of  their  passions,  un 

enforced  by  uncommon  motions  and  gesture*.  Thu*. 
when  Achilles  had  driven  the  Trojans  into  their  city 
with  the  greatest  precipitation  and  terror,  and  only 
Hector  ventured  to  tarry  without  the  i^ates  to  engage 
him,  Homer  represents  both,  King  Priam  and  his 
tyueen.  in  the  highest  state  of  consternation  for 


rfanger  of  their  soli;  and,  therefore,  in  order  to  pre 
rail  with  him  to  enter  the  city,  and  not  fight  with 
Ac;  illes,  they  not  only  entreat  him  from  the  walls,  iu 
the  most  tender  and  moving  language  imaginable, 
but  they  violently  tear  oft' their  grey  locks  with  their 
hands,  and  adjure  him  to  comply  with  their  request. 
The  poet  well  knew,  that  no  words  of  themselves 
could  represent  those  agonies  of  mind  he  endeavoured 
to  convey,  unless  heightened  by  the  idea  of  such  at 
fions  as  were  expressive  of  the  deeprst  sorrow.  In 
one  of  Cicero's  orations,  he  proceeds  to  argue  in  this 
manner  with  one  of  his  adversarie*  .  *•  Would  you 
tfalk  thus  if  you  were  serious  ?  Would  you,  who  are 
wont  to  display  your  eloquence  so  warmly  in  the  dan- 
ger of  others,  act  so  coldly  in  your  own  ?  AVhei 
that  concern,  that  ardour  which  used  to  extort  pity 
even  from  children?  Here  is  no  (motion,  either  of 
in  i  nd  or  body;  neither  the  forehead  struck,  nor  the 
thigh,  nor  so  much  as  a  stamp  of  the  foot :  therefore, 
you  have  been  so  far  from  inflaming  our  minds,  that 
you  have  scarcely  kept  us  awake,." 

The  ancients  had  persons  whose  proper  IHIMIH^S 
it  was,  to  teach  them  how  to  regulate  and  manage 
their  voice ;  and  others  who  instructed  them  in  the 
whole  art  of  pronunciation,  both  as  to  their  voice  and 
gestures.  The  latter  were  selected  from  the  most 
Celebrated  and  experienced  actors  of  the  stage — Bat 
though  they  sometimes  made  use  of  actors  to  instruct 
their  youth  in  forming  their  speech  and  gestures,  yet 
they  always,  very  correctly,  considered  the  action  of 
a  real  orator  to  be  necessarily  very  different  from  that, 
«rf  the  theatre.  Cicero  very  forcibly  represents  this 


Ib 

5  of  orator**,  in  ilie  won! 

Gra*sus.  he  says,   ••  the  motions  of  the  body  . 
be  suited  to  the  expression*,  not  in  a 
mimicking  the  words  by  particular  pMnlation.  but 
in  a  manner  expressive  of  tin-  with  :i 

.ind   manly  inflection  of  tl  ken 

from  th;  and  actors,  but  from  the   exercise  of 

arms  and  the  p  " — And  Quint  ilian  ob^ei v 

same    purpose — "The  gc-  and   motion- 

are  not  to  be  imitated  b\  an  orator."   T! 
ed  men,  thought  th»i   action  of  the 
too  lii:ht   and  t  _mit  to  be  imitated  by  an  < 

and.  thri>-forr.    >\h»-n  tliey  emph»yed  an  actor  t<* 
in>t  children    in  tli  'idiment-,   the\ 

ah\a^  -    - 

d  on  ]>'  ith  them  a 

and  ,ement  of  their  ' 

prepared,  t:  e  after\'  it  to  the  school - 

the  rhetcu-ician^  :   and    i  -  their   ' 

niltivate  thi-ir  ^tyle.  and  ?.c<n::re  the  Avhol* 

ICC <»  parti-  nlarly  to  ;n  quitr  a  jusl  :nid  acci:; 

pronunciation,   by  the-  .   in  \vhich.  for  * 

important  end,  they  wen-  ron-umtly  emph>. 

r  all  tlii>  pairiN   and   indn>try.  did  they  y* .(  think 
themselves  ijtialitied  to  take  upon  them   the  <  b 
of  orator-:   bir.  iheircoi  in  to  col 

•ne  of  their  friends  and  acquaintance,   \\lic 
>vere  com^tent  to  jud-e  of   -uch    ]K'rformances.  and 

I  aim  privately  In-fore  them.     The  !> 
per^nn-  \vn*  to  make  n'i*er\ation-  upon  their  perform- 
ances,  both  with  i  to  the  language  which  they 
d,  and  the  manner  of  pronun  :  and  tli 


17 

expected  to  use  the  greatest  freedom,  to  tak°  notice  of 
an  v  and  every  thing  conceived  to  be  imperfect,  either 
as  to  inaccuracy  <»f  method,  impropriety  of  style,  or 
•acefulness  in  voice  or  gesture.  This  course  gave 
them  an  opportunity  to  correct  all  such  defects,  at  tirst, 
before  they  became  habitual.  Here  we  see  parents, 
in  earlier  times,  exhibiting  more  sense  than  to  smd 
their  children  to  such  schools  as  proiVss  to  teach  all 
branches  at  once,  and  in  the  same  hustling  and  confu- 
sed room,  and  where,  in  fact,  no  branch  is  taught  in 
sue  h  a  manner  as  it  ought  to  be  done. 

The  characteristic  di  lie  re  nee  between  the  accom- 
plishments of  the  youth,  trained  up  and  introduced 
to  the  world  after  the  manner  of  the  ancients,  and  those. 
who  are  now  trained  up  in  the  confusion  and  noi-e. 
which  universally  attend  schools,  where  all  bran- 
are  taught  at  the  same  time  and  plu<  e.  N  great,  and 
humiliating  indeed:  and  the  course  pmsui  <l  by  the 
ancients,  as  to  its  utility,  dignity,  and  beamy,  i 
much  to  be  preferred  as  the  established,  regular  and 
splendid  book-store  is  to  the  contemptible  *treet- 
book'-stall.  And  here  it  is  proper  to  ask,  what  splen- 
did effects  mi^ht  ue  not  "expect  in  the  present  day,  in 
the  midst  of  this  dearth  of  real  oratory,  from  the1 
tablishmeut  of  sue  h  an  institution?  Persons  trained 
up  in  this  manner,  with  all  those  advantages,  combi- 
ned with  good  natural  genius,  could  rarely  fail  of  be- 
coming accomplished  orators;  for  even  after  they  had 
made  their  appearance  before  the  public,  like  the  an- 
cient youth,  they  would  not  then  discontinue  the  prac- 


tice of  declaiming. 


3 


18      • 

The  influence  of  sound*,  cither  to  rai«e  or  allay  our 
;>n«,  is  i -^den:  from  music;  and,  umpi  ily, 

the  Jkirmony  of  a  fine  essay,  or  di>ooavse,  on  being 
either  read  or  recited  well  and  gra,'.  fully,  is  as  c-\pa- 
ble  of  moving  a*,  if  not  uith  such  violence  and  ecsta- 
cy,  yet  with  no  le-.-  power,  and  certainly  more  agree- 
able :*;  our  rational  facultie-.  A-  per>on>  are  difter- 
d  when  they  speak,  so  they  naturally  al- 
ter i  he  tone  of  tlieir  voice,  though  they  do  not  ap; 

1  10  it.    Now,  it  ri-e>.      now.  it  -ink*,  and  has 
vario  i-   iiiilexion.^  ^iven  it.  accordins;  to  the  stale  or 
disposition  of  the  mind.      V»  hen  the  mind  is  calm  and 
seda'e.  the  voice  is  moderate  and  even:   when  the  for- 
mer Is  p  iown  hy  sorrow,  tiie  la;  .  nnilous 
and          .      I.  and  when  th:.               -ed  hy  passion^  this 
It   i-  the  orator's  business  there- 
fore, to  follow  iiMiiire.  and  U>  endeavour  that  the  tone 
ofl)'                appeal               1   and  unaffected — an.l,   for 
thi-                                                      it  it  to  the  nature  of 
the  subject :   l>                                            and  always  de- 
cent.     Some  per-oii-  c«»i.;inue   their  di-coii;--e  in  -urh 
alow  and   dravvliiu;   jnanuer,   that  they  can   ^canely 
be  heard   by    tin  ir  audience.     Others  a-;aiu,    let  the 
nature  of  the  subject  be  what  it  may,  hurry  on,  in  so 
loud  ;uid  boi-H'iou- a  manner,  ilia?  it  would  seem  they 
imagined  Lheir  hear.  IN  ?o  be  -ieaf.      Now.  all  (he  mu- 
sic and  luirinony  of  voice,  lies  between  these  two  ex- 
tremes. 


19 


Of  Accent,  Emphasis,  and  Cadence. 

Nothing  is  of  more  importance  to  a  speaker,  than 
to  pay  proper  attention  to  accent,  emphuxi*.  and  ca- 
dence. Every  word  in  our  language,  of  more  than  one 
:hle,  lias,  at  least,  one  accented  syllable.  This 
syllable  ought  to  be  rightly  known,  and  the  word 
should  be  pronounced  by  the  speaker  in  the  same 
manner  as  he  would  pronounce  it  in  ordinary  conver- 
sation. 

13y  emphasis,  we  distinguish  those  words  in  a  sen- 
tence, which  we  esteem  the  moat  important,  by  laying 
a  greater  stress  of  voice  npnn  them  than  we  do  upon 
others;  and  it  is  surpri>iuu;  to  observe  how  the  s 
of  a  phrase  may  be  altered  b\  :;•  (he  em 

The  following  example   will  si  .tn   illu-iraliou. 

Tins  short  question,  "'  Will  yon  ride  to  town  to-day  ?'? 
may  be  understood  in  four  diiVerenl  \\MV-,  and,  conse- 
quently, may  receive  four  different  answers,  according 
as  we  place  the  emphasis.  If  it  be  pronounced  thus, 
"  Will  you  ride  to  town  to-day?"  the  uisuer  may  with 
propriety,  be  given  -No:  I  shall  send  my  son.  It* 
thus.  k»  Will  you  ride  to  town  to  day  ':'•  Answer — No; 
I  intend  to  v  alk.  "  Will  you  ride  to  town  to-day?" 
!No;  1  shall  ride  into  the  country.  "  Will  you  ride 
vn  to-day?  No:  but  I  may  to-morrow.  This 
sh...vs  how  necessary  it  is,  that  a  speaker  should  know 
how  to  --.iiicc  his  emphasis :  and  the  oiily  rule  for  :liis 
is,  that  he  study  to  attain  a  just  conception  of  the  force 


20 

and  spirit  of  the  sentiments  which  he  delivers.  There 
is  as  great  a  difference  between  one  who  lays  hi* 
phasis  properly,  and  one  who  pays  no  regard  to  it,  or 
places  it  wrong,  as  there  is  between  one  who  plays  on 
an  iii.stument  with  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  the  most 
clownish  and  blundering  performer. 

Cad(  i  r< .  i-  the  revci'M'  of  emphasis.  It  is  a  depres- 
sion, or  lowering  of  the  voice,  and  commonly  falls  on. 
the  last  syllable  in  a  .sentence.  It  must  be  varied, 
however,  according  to  the  seiisp.  Whin  a  fj  lies 'ion 
is  asked,  it  seldom  IV- 11*  on  the  last  word,  and  many 
quire  no  cadence  at  all.  Every  person 
who  speaks  in  public  should  endeavour,  if  possible,  to 
fill  (he  place  v\  hw1  hi'  >j»eak<.  Hut  Mill  he  ought  to 
be  careful  not  to  exceed  (lit1  natural  key  of  his  voice. 
If  he  doe-,  it  \\ill  neither  be  soft  nor  agreeble  :  but 
either  harsh  and  roui;h,  or  too  shrill  and  squeaking. 
Peside.s.  hr  will  not  be  aide  to  give  every  syllable  iis 
full  and  distinct  sound,  \\hich  will  render  Mhat  he 
says  obscure,  and  difficult  to  be  understood.  He 
should,  therefore,  take  rare  to  keep  his  voice  within, 
reach,  so  as  to  be  able  io  manage  it.  that  he  may  raise 
or  sink  it.  or  give  it  any  inflection,  he  thinks  proper; 
\vhich,  it  will  not  be  in  his  power  to  do.  if  he  put  a 
force  upon  it,  and  strain  it  beyond  its  natural  tone. 

The  like  caution  is  to  he  used  again*!  the  contrary 
extreme,  that  the  voice  be  not  suffered  to  sink  too  low. 
This  will  give  the  speaker  pain  in  raiding  it  again  to 
its  proper  pitch,  and  be  no  less  offensive  to  the  hear- 
ers. The  medium  between  these  two,  is  a  moderate 
and  even  voice  ;  but  this  is  not  the  same  in  all ;  that 
which  is  moderate  in  one,  would  be  high  in  another. 
Every  person,  therefore,  must  regulate  it  by  the  na- 


21 

turalkey  of  his  own  voice.  A  calm  and  sedate  voice 
is  generally  best — as  a  moderate  sound  is  most  pleas- 
ing to  the  ear,  if  it  he  clear  and  distinct.  But  this 
equality  of  the  voice  must  also  be  accompanied  with 
a  variety;  otherwise,  there  can  he  no  harmony;  since 
all  harmony  consists  in  variety. 

Nothing  is  more  unpleasant  than  a  discourse  pro-* 
nounced  throughout  in  oue  continued  tone  of  the  voice 
without  any  alteration.  The  equality,  therefore,  we 
arc  here  speaking  of,  admits  a  varity  of  inflections 
and  changes  within  the  same  pitch:  and.  when  that 
is  altered^  the  gradations,  whe  her  higher  or  lower, 
should  be  so  gentle  and  regular  a-*  to  preserve  a  due 
proportion  of  the  parts,  and  harmony  of  the  whole; 
wiiich  cannot  be  done  when  the  voice  is  suddenly 
varied  with  too  grea1  a  distinction:  and,  therefore,  it 
should  move  from  one  key  to  :.!ioiher.  -<>  as  rather  to 
glide  like  a  gemle  *trcam.  than  pour  down  like  a  ra- 
pid torrent.  Hut  an  a  fleeted  variety,  ill  placed,  ; 
disagreeable  to  a  judicious  audience,  as  the  want  of 
it,  where  the  subject  requires  it.  \Ve  may  find  somo 
persons,  in  pronouncing  a  grave  and  plain  discourse, 
affect  as  many  different  tones,  and  variations  of  their 
voice,  as  they- would  in  acting  a  comedy — and  this  is 
manifestly  a  very  great  impropriety.  But  the  orator's 
province  is  not  barely  to  apply  to  the  mind,  but  likewise*, 
to  the  passions  :  which  require  a  great  variety  of  the 
voice,  high  or  low,  vehement  or  languid,  according  to 
the  nature  of  the  passions  he  designs  to  affect.  So,  that 
for  an  orator  always  to  use  the  same  tone  or  degree 
of  his  voice,  and  expect  to  accomplish  all  his  objects 
by  it,  would  be  as  inconsistent  as  the  rondnrt  of  that 


22 

empiric  amoiiii;  ph>  .   who  informs  you  he  cau 

and    will,   und  •>  cure   all   <li-.  one 

re  mono!  un- 

l»e  necessary  or  pioper  in 

i  ;>ro- 

nounred  faster  than  otl,  i  y  manifest,    (i.ty  and 

»ld  not  only  be  exj-  .der. 

kcr  than  Mich  u  -oniy  and  plaintive. 

And  when  we  -press  an  opponent,    the  voice  -honld 

be  hrUk.      Hut   when    we    hurry   on    in  a    prrcipi 

manner   v.ithout  pa1  .npelled  to   -iop  for 

want  of  breaih.   \\'e  certainly   commit  a  ^reat  mi-take. 

In   ihii   \\ay.  the   r-  (linn   between   M-n- 

d — and   aUo.    that  be- 

:i  the    se\eral    >\nrd«of  tin-    -auic  -enteiK  e  :   anil 

•  of  -peaking  is  lost,    and 

in  a  great  n  derixed  from  being 

heard.      Voiuij;  pei->on<  ai>  .  .hi  .   .- 

cially  at   lir-t.      It    howex.    .  s    from   diffi- 

d'  nee. — H.  ;  p«'rformance<,  and  the 

i  hey    may  have  in  speakins;,  they  are  in  pain 
till  the  o\'.-r:   and   thi-  ihem    into  a 

hurry  of  mind,  which  incapacitaies  them  forgo>ern- 
ini;  their  voice  and  keeping  it  under  that  due  regula- 
tion, whicli  perhnp>  ili-y  j.i-MjM^rd  to  them>el\es  be- 
fore they  commenced  speaking.  And,  as  a  precipitant 
and  hasty  pronunciation  is  culpable,  so  also  on  the 
other  hand,  ii  i-  a  fault  to  speak  tou  -!I,-MV.  This 
seem-  to  ar^ue  a  heaviness  in  the  speaker — and  as  he 
appears  cool  himself,  he  can  never  expect  to  warm  his 
hearers,  and  ex  : flection-.  ^  hei,  ni.:  only 

y  word,  but  every  syllable  is  drawn  out  to  too 


28 

great  a  length,  the  ideas  do  not  come  fast  enough  te 
keep  up  Hie  attention  without  much  uiuasiiuv-.  Now 
to  avoid  either  of  these  two  extremes  last  mentioned, 
the  voice  ought  to  he  distinct  and  sedate.     And  in  or- 
der to  have  it  distinct,  it  is  nee -cssary.   not  only  that, 
each  word  and  syllable  should  have  its  just  and  full 
sound,  both  as  to  time  and  accent;  but  also,  that  every 
sentence,  and  part  of  a  sentence,  should  be  separated 
by  it  proper  pause.     This  is  more  e.isy  to  be  done  in 
reading,  from  the  assistance  of   he  points:  but  it  is  no 
less  rigidly  to  be  attended  to  in  speaking,  if  we  would 
pronounce  in  a  distinct  and  graceful   manner.      For, 
let  it  never  be  forgotten,  that  every  cue  should  speak 
in  the  same  manner  as  he  ought  to  read,  if  possible 
to  arrive  at  such  exactness.     Now,  the  common  rule 
given  in  pausing  U.  that  we  stop  our  \oice  at  a  coin- 
in  a,  fill  we  can  tell  one:  ai  a  semicolon,  two ;  at  a  colon 
three:  and  at  a  full  period  four.    And,  as  these  points 
are  accommodated  to  the    se\eral   parts  of   the  same 
sentence,   as  the  first  three:  or  diflerent  sentence- 
the   last;   this   occasions  the  different  length   of   the 
pause,  hy  which,  either  the  dependence  of  what  suc- 
ceeds upon  that  which  follows,  or  its  distinction  from 
it,  is  represented.     It  is  not  in  our  power  to  give  our- 
selves what  qualities  of  the  voice  we  please;  but  it  is 
in  every  one's  power  to  make  the  best  use  he  can  of 
what  a  kind  and  wise  providence  has  bestowed  upon 
him.     However,  several  defects  of  the  voice  are  ca- 
pable of  being  remedied  by  care,  and  the  use  of  proper 
means.    As  on  the  other  hand,  the  best  voice  may  be 
greatly  injured  by  bad  management  and  indiscretion. 


24 

A  temperate  habit  of  living  is  calculated  to  preserve 
and  improve  the  voice;  and  every  ape*  ie-  of  ev  ess  U 
extremely  ])rejnrlicial  to  it.     The  voice  must  necessa- 
rily suffer,  if  tiie  organs  of  speech  have  not  their  pro- 
per tone.     A  strong  voice  is  of  great  service  to  an 
orator:  becau-e.  ;fhe  want  some  other  advantages,  he 
e  of  making  himself  heard.     And  if,  at 
any  lime,  he  is  forced  to  strain  it.  he  is  in  little  dan- 
ger of  its  failing  him  before  he  finishes  his  discourse. 
But  he,    uho  has  a  weak  vnice,  should  be  very  care- 
ful not  to  strain  it,   especially  when  commencing  his 
discourse.     He  ought  to  begin  in  a  slow  manner,  and 
rise  -mhially.  to  Mich  a  pitch  as  the  key  of  his  voice 
will  carry   him,  without  being  obliged  to  sink  again 
afterward-.      Kmjuent    inflections   of   the   voice   will 
lik«  to  him.      Hut   especially 

iiould  take   tare  to  speak  deliberately,  and  . 
liis  all  the   proper  pauses.      It  is  an  extreme, 

much  le  —  :.'i\e;iient  for  SIK  h  a  person  rather  to 
speak  loo  sl,i\\ .  'Inn  too  fa-t.  15ut  thi>  defect  of  a  weak 
voi<  pable  nf  being  helped  by  the 

of  proper  method-,  as  i-  e\ident  from  the  instance 
of  Demosthenes  before  mentioned.  Some  persons, 
either  from  want  of  due  care  in  their  education  at  first, 
or  from  inadvertency  and  negligence  afterwards,  run 
into  an  irregular  and  confused  manner  of  expressing 
their  words;  either  by  misplacing  the  accent,  con- 
founding the  sound  of  the  letters,  or  huddling  the 
syllables  one  upon  another,  so  as  to  render  what  they 
say,  often  unintelligible.  Indeed,  sometimes  this  arises 
from  a  natural  defect,  as  hi  the  case  of  Demosthenes; 


25 

who  found  a  mean  to  rectify  that,  as  well  as  the  weak 
ness  of  his  voice.     But,  in  defects  of  this  kind  which 
proceed  from  habit,  the  most  likely  method  of  mend- 
ing them,  doubtless,  is,  to  speak  with  great  delibera- 
tion. 


Of  Gesture. 

By  the  term  gesture,  we  mean  that  conformity  of 
the  countenance,  motion,  and  several  parts  of  the 
body,  which  is  suited  to  the  subject  of  our  discourse. 

It  is  not  decided,  with  any  degree  of  unanimity, 
among  the  learned,  whether  th<  •'/•<•„  has 

the  greatest  influence  upon  an  auditory.  Hut  as  the, 
latter  affects  us  through  the  CIJP.  and  the  former  through 
the  ear,  it  would  seem,  that  ^-e^ture.  from  the  nature-. 
of  it,  must  have  this  advantage — that  it  conveys  the 
impression  more  speedily  to  the  mind — as  the  sight  is 
the  quickest  of  all  our  senses.  Nor  is  its  influence. 
less  upon  our  passions  ;  as  experience  has  often  pro- 
ved. The  eye  has  a  more  powerful  effect  than  any 
gesture. — A  cast  of  the  eye,  will  express  desire,  or 
love,  in  a  more  moving  manner  than  the  softest,  and 
most  mellifluous  language  ;  and  a  different  motion  of 
it,  disgust  and  resentment.  To  wring  the  hands,  tear 
the  hair,  or  strike  the  breast,  are  all  strong  indica- 
tions of  sorrow.  And  he  who  only  puts  his  hand  upon 

his  sword,  throws  us  into  a  greater  panic,  than  one 

4 


26 

who  only  threatens  to  kill  us.  Nor  i»  it,  in  mnny 
respects,  less  various  and  expressive  language.  We 
are  told  by  Cicero,  that  he  often  diverted  himself  by 
trying  this  with  Koscius,  the,  celebrated  comedian ; 
who  could  express  a  sentence  in  as  many  ways  by 
hi>  -,  as  he  could  by  lii^  word-.  And  timse 

dramas,  called  pantomimes,  have  frequently  been  car- 
vied  on  wholly  by  mute-,  who  have  performed  every 
part  by  gestures  only,  in  a  very  intelligible  and  intc- 
.Mg  manner.  With  respect,  to  oratory,  gesture 
may  \<T\  properly  be  styled  the  second  part  of  pro- 
nunciation; in  \\hich.  as  the  voice  should  he  sui^d 
to  the .  imprc—ion-  it  rec$iveti  from  ihe  mind,  so  the 
several  motions  of  the  body  on^hi  10  he  accommodated 
to  the  \arious  tones  and  inHertio»is  of  the  voice. 
When  tin-  ii,  and  moderate,  little  gesture 

is  requi.  id  nothing  can  be  more  improper,  than 

\iolent  motion,  in  dUconrMiig  upon  ordinary  and  fa- 
miliar subject*.      The  motion  of  the  body  should  i 
therefore,   in  proportion  to  thr  vehemence  and  energy 
of  the  sentiment,    and  appear  to  be   the  natural  and 
genuine  etVect  of  it. 

ISut  as  th  very  diflerent  and  various,  as 

to  the  manner  of  it,  which  depends  upon  the  proper 
management  of  the  several  part*  of  the  body,  it  will 
be  important  to  point  out  more  particularly  the  manage- 
ment which  is  now  under  consideration.  Now  all 
gesture  is  either  natural,  or  from  imitation.  By  na- 
tural gesticulation,  we  mean.  Mich  actions  and  motions 
of  the  body,  as  naturally  accompany  our  words — as 
words  do  the  impressions  of  our  mind ; — and  these 
cither  respect  the  whole  body,  or  some  particular 


27 

part  of  it.  The  orator  should  not  long  continue  stand- 
ing in  the  same  position,  like  a  statue;  but  be  con- 
stantly changing,  though  the  motion  needs  to  be  but; 
very  moderate.  There  ought  to  be  no  appearance  of 
stiffness,  but  a  certain  ease,  and  pliableness,  natural- 
ly suiting  itself  to  every  expression  :  by  which  moans, 
when  a  greater  degree  of  motion  is  necessary,  it  will 
appeal-  less  Midden  and  vehement ;  for  as  the  raising, 
sinking,  and  various  inflexions  of  the  voice  must  be, 
gradual,  so  likewise  should  the  motions  of  the  body* 
It  is  only  on  some  particular  occasions,  (liat  a  hurried, 
vehement,  and  impel mm<  manner,  i  proper  in  either 
case. 

With  respect  to  the  several  parts  of  the  body,  the 
gestures  of  the  hruil*  are  the  most  important.   To  i 
this   too   hii;-|i,  gives  an  air  of  arrogance  and  pride; 
to  stretch  it  forward  too  far.  or  throw  il  It 
rlownUh  and  imrultivated  manners;   to  hanu;  it  down- 
wards upon  the  breast,  -lm\\  -  an  Undignified  diflin 
and  want  of  spirit;  and  to  sutler  it  to   rest  on   either 
shoulder,  evince*  both   sloth  and  indolence.     He- 
rn all  calm,  and  sedate  speaking,   the  IK  ad  should  be 
kept  in  its  natural  state,  or  upright  posture.     How- 
ever, it  should  not  be  long  without  motion,  nor  yet. 
constantly  moving;  but  gently  turn,  sometimes  on  one 
side,  and  sometimes  on  the  other,  a-  occasion  requires ; 
that  the  voice  may  be  more  distinctly  heard  by  all  who 
are  present;  and  then  return  in  an  ea-v  and  graceful 
manner  to  its  natural  position.     It  should  always  ac- 
company the  other  actions  of  the  body,  and  turn  on 
the  same  side  with  them  ;  except  when  we  wi* 
express  aversion  to  any  thing  ;  and  this  is  to  be  done. 


ti 

by  stretching  out  the  right  hand  with  the  palm  turned 
back,  and  turning  the  head  to  the  left. 

But  it  is  the  countenance,  that  principally  repre- 
sents both  the  passions,  and  the  disposition,  of  the 
mind.  By  thi>  \\e  express  love,  hatred,  joy,  and 
-oi  row  ;  modesty,  and  confidence — by  this  \ve  suppli- 
cate, threaten,  soothe,  flatter,  invite,  forbid,  consent, 
or  refuse;  and  all  this  we  may  do  without  articula- 
tion :  and,  indeed,  it  is  from  a  view  of  the  counte- 
nance, that  we  judge  not  only  of  a  person's  present 
temper,  but  of  his  capacity,  and  natural  disposition. 
Hence,  it  is  common  to  sty,  -IK  h  a  one  "has  a  pro- 
mising countenance,"  or,  "his  countenance  proini 
but  little."  Thi>,  however,  is  not  an  infallible  rult 
of  judging;  nor  is  it  iu  the  power  of  an  orator  to  alter 
the  natural  mechanism  of  his  countenance.  But  the 
sr\i-ral  parts  of  the  face  bear  their  part,  and  contri- 
bute to  the  proper  ami  decent  motion  of  the  whole. 
In  cool  and  di-  ite  di-<  ourse,  all  the  features 

retain  their  natural  Mate  and  situation.  In  sorrow, 
the  forehead  and  exchrous  lower,  and  the  cheeks 
hang  down:  but  in  expressions  of  cheerfulness  and 
.  the  forehead  ami  eyebrows  are  expanded,  the 
(  herkx  <  ontracied,  and  the  comers  of  the  mouth  drawn 
upwards. 

ger  and  resent  me  fit  contract  the  forehead,  drau 
the  brows  together,  and  thrust  out  the  lips ;  and  ter- 
ror elevates  both  the  brows  and  forehead ;  and  as  these 
are  invariably  the  natural  siun*  of  .such  passions,  the 
orator  should  ever  recollect,  and  conform  to  them. 
Hut  as  the  eyes  are  the  nio-i  active  and  significant,  it 
is  recommended  that  the  greatest  care  should  be  taken 


29 

in  their  management ;  because  other  parts  of  the  coun- 
tenance, have  but  a  few  motions ;  whereas  the  eyes  ex- 
press all  the  passions  of  the  soul,  by  so  many  diller- 
ent  actions,  which  cannot  possibly  be  expressed  by 
any  gestures  of  the  body,  if  the  eyes  are  kept  in  a 
fixed  and  motionless  posture.  We  readily  determine  a 
person's  inclinations,  and  how  he  is  afl'ected  towards 
us,by  observing  his  eyes  ;  and  any  sudden  gust,  or 
emotion  of  the  mind,  is  speedily  followed  by  an  altera- 
tion in  the  eye.      'Hence,   in   speaking,   upon  pleasant 
and  delightful  subjects,  the  eyes  are  all  animation  and 
cheerfulness;  and,  on  the  contrary,  they  become  in 
animate,  languid,  and  cheerless,  on    delivering   any 
thing  afflictive  and   sorrowful.     This  is  so  conforma- 
ble to    nature,  that    before    a   person  speaks,    we  arc 
prepared,  from  a  mere  \iew  of  him,  with  an  expecta- 
tion of  either  one,  or  the  other,  from  hU  dilVemit  as- 
pect.    So  also  in  anger,  a  certain  vehemence  and  in- 
tenseness  appears  in  the  eyeSj  \\hi<  h.  for  want  of  pro- 
per words  with  which  to  expire  it,  we  endc;i\onr  to 
represent  it  by  metaphors  taken  from  fire,  the  most 
violent  and  rapid  element ;  and  say,  in  such  cases, 
the  eyes  xjtarkle,  bum,  or  are  inhumed.     In  expres- 
sions of  dislike  and  detestation,  it  is  natural  to  alter 
the  looks,  either  by  turning  the  eyes  a>ide,  or  down- 
wards.    Indeed,  the  eyes  lire  sometimes  turned  down- 
wards upon  other  occasions;  for  instance,  to  expire 
modesty ;  and  if  at  any  time  a  particular  object  be 
addressed,  whatever  it  be,  the  eyes  should  be  turned 
that  way.     And  hence,  a  certain  author,  with  great 
propriety,  ridicules  the  rhetorician,  as  guilty  of  a  so- 
lecism  in  gesture,  who.  when  saying,  O  Jupiter  !  turn- 


3U 

eii  liis  eyes  downwards;  and  wheii  saying,  O  earth! 
looked  upwards. 

A  staring  look,  has  the  appearance  of  poverty  of 
intellect,  and  \vant  of  thought :  and  a  contraction  of 
theeve-.  e\rite*  the  *u»picion  of  chicanery  or  design. 
A  fixed  look,  may  he  occa*i».ned  hy  intenseness  of 
thought,  hut,  at  the  ^ame  nine,  it  hetrays  a  disregard 
to  the  audience:  and  a  rapid  wandering  motion  of  tha 
eyes.  nerally  considered,  as  denoting  levity  and 

wautonne--.  It  i-.  therefore,  com  hided  that  a  gentle 
and  moderate  motion  of  the  e\e*.  is  generally  the  most 
suitable — always  dinic;ed  towards  some  of  (he  au- 
dience :  and  gradually  timiini;  from  side  to  side,  with 
a  respectful  modeM  air,  looking  them  in  the  face,  as  in 
comiiion  <  on\  rr-aiion.  Such  a  management  of  the 
eyes,  will,  undoubtedly,  attract  due  attention.  With 
r»--pe<  t  to  the  other  parts  of  the  hody  distinct  from  the, 
head,  the  shoulder^  on-lit  not  to  he  elevated:  for  this 
i*  not  only,  in  itself,  indecent:  hut  it  also  contracts 
the  neck  and  pre\enN  ilic  proper  motion  of  the  head. 
Nor  on  the  other  hand,  should  they  he  drawn  down 
and  depressed:  &fl  ihU  \\ill  occa.-ion  a  stillness  of  the 
nee  k,  not  only,  hut  of  the  \>  hole  hody.  Their  natural 
posture,  therefore,  i>  hot.  a^  thi^  is  the  most  easy  and 
graceful.  To  shrug  the  shouklers  has  an  air  of  abjec- 
tion and  servility:  and  frequently  to  heave  them  up- 
wards and  downwards,  is  a  very  disagreeable  sight. 
A  continued  motion  of  the  arms,  any  way,  is  by  all 
means  to  be  avoided;  as  their  action  should  generally 
be  very  moderate,  and  follow  that  of  the  hands ;  unles- 
in  very  pathetic  expressions,  wkeri,  it  may  be  proper 
1&  give  them  a  mare  animated  and  rapid  motion 


31 

It  may  here  be  further  observed,  that  all  proper 
motions  of  the  body,  are  either  upward  or  downward; 
to  the  right  or  left ;  forward  or  backward,  or,  it  possi- 
bly may  be  circular.  And,  in  all  these,  the  hands  arc 
necessarily  employed,  except  in  the  last.  And,  as  they 
ought  to  correspond  to  the  sentiments  we  intend  to 
communicate,  they  ought  alv\  ays  to  begin  and  end  with 
them.  In  admiration  and  our  addresses  to  heaven, 
the  hands  should  be  elevated,  but  rarely  raised  above 
the  eyes;  and  when  speaking  of  things  below  us, 
they  should  be  directed  downwards.  Side  motion, 
should  generally  begin  from  the  left,  and  gently  ter- 
minate on  the  right.  In  demonstration,  addresses,  and 
on  many  other  occasions,  they  should  move  forward  ; 
and  sometimes,  in  threatening,  they  should  be.  thrown 

back.  Hut  when  ilie  Orator  speaks  of  himself,  he 
should  gently  lay  his  right  hand  upon  his  breast.  And 
the  left  hand  should  seldom  move  alone,  but  conform 
to  the  motions  of  the  right.  In  motions  to  the  left 
side,  the  right  hand  should  not  be  often  carried  beyond 
the  left  shoulder. 

In  promises,  and  complimentary  expressions  the 
hands  should  have  a  gentle  and  *lo\\  motion;  but  in  ex- 
pressions of  applause  and  exhortation,  their  motion 
should  be  rapid.  The  hands  should  generally  be  open ; 
but  in  expressions  of  contrition  and  anger,  they  may  be 
closed.  All  trifling  and  finical  actions  of  the  fingers 
should  be  avoided ;  though  they  should  not  be  stretch- 
ed out  and  expanded  in  a  fixed  and  rigid  posture,  but 
kept  in  an  easy  and  natural  one.  The  foregoing,  are  the 
gestures  which  naturally  accompany  our  expressions, 
and  if  duly  regarded,  will,  undoubtedly,  be  found 


I 

sufficient  for  all  the  purposes  of  those  who  wi«h  to  be- 
come eloquent  orators.  We  have  alluded,  indeed,  to 
another  sort  of  gestures — o  those  required  fi-.r  imita- 
tion :  as,  where  the  speaker  personates  another,  and 
describes  his  actions  : — But  gestures  of  this  kind  are 
never  wanted  by  a  good  orator,  and  generally  subject 
those  who  make  n>e  of  ;liem,  to  the  charge  of  buffoon- 
ery, of  light.  taral,  and  theatric  mimicry.  When 
an  orator  is  compelled  to  exhibit  things  of  this  sort, 
let  him  con  :-y  to  the  minds  of  hi-  h 

or-,  in  an  animating  manner:  but  never  resort  to  those 
changes  of  the  voice,  attitml  re,  and  countenance. 

Avhich  I>etray  a  forg«'tfulness  of  that  self-respect,  and 
ihat  dignity,  which  ou^ht  ever  to  appear,  in  a  distin- 
-hed  orator.  And,  to  close  our  remarks  upon  thissub- 
.  it  i>  earnestly  recommended,  that  every  -peaker, 
should  iii'»-t  carefully  i;uard  a^ainsi  all  atl'ectation; 
^which  i>  the  utter  de-liin  lion  of  good  pronunciation. 
Let  hi^  manner,  \\hair\er  it  ]n\  he  hi-  own:  Fiot  the 
product  of  an  "huitation  of  any  one.  nor  taken  from  a 
model  of  the  imagination:  as  this  will  always  be  un- 
natural. Whatever  is  natural,  though  it  maybe  some- 
^vhat  defective.  v\ill  pMierally  |>1  %a-e:  because  it  ex- 
hibit*  only  the  person  before  us,  and  appears  to  come 
unadulterated,  from  the  heart.  It  is  true,  that  to  attain 
the  art  of  an  c.rtrent  />/  <  nrrect,  and  graceful  pronun- 
ciation, is  what  but  few  comparatively  speaking.can  ac- 
complish: as  it  requires  a  concurrence,  or  combination 
of  talent-,  which  every  one  does  not  possess.  At  the 
same  time,  it  is  equally  true,  that  it  is  in  the  power  of 
the  greatest  part  of  mankind,  to  acquire  a  habit  of 
speaking  iu  a  forcible  and  persuasive  manner ;  and 


33 

those  who  do  not  acquire  this  habit  when  possessed 
of  the  means,  evince  a  taste,  which  will  forever  debar 
them  the  pleasure  of  respectable  and  refined  society. 


REMARKS,  &c. 

Introductory  to  Rules  to  be  observed  in  Composition. 

It  is  generally  understood  that  an  ju-qnaintanc *e  with 
the  circle  of  the  liberal  arts,  is  indispensably  IK 
sary,  to  the  successful  study  of  Rhetoric  and  Belli  s 
Lettres.  It  has  been  the  sentiment,  in  every  enlight- 
ened age,  that  in  order  to  heroine  distinguished  for 
Oratory  or  real  Kloqnence.  we  lir>t  must  he,  conversant 
W7ith  every  departmenl  of  science.  And,  indeed,  it  will 
forever  be  impossible  for  man  to  contrive  an  art, 
which  shall  give  the  merit  of  richness  and  splendour 
of  expression,  to  a  composition  which  po-M'-M-*  barren 
or  erroneous  sentiments.  Oratory  has  frequently  been 
debased  by  attempts  to  establish  a  false  criterion  of 
its  value — some  mistaken  writers,  have  endeavoured 
to  supply  the  want  of  matter  by  the  graces  of  their 
composition;  and  to  court  the  momentary  applause  of 
the  ignorant  and  vulgar,  instead  of  the  enduring  and 
valuable  approbation  of  the  enlightened  and  discern- 
ing. But  the  prevalence  of  such  oratory  is  well  known 
to  be  transitory  ;,and  the  body,  and  basis  of  any  valu- 
able composition,  must  be  produced  by  knowledge  and 
science.  The  structure  may  be  completed  and  polish- 

5 


34 

ed  hvthe  Rhetorical  art:  but  it  is  the  (inn,  solid.  ;uul 
di, ;«'!.'!•  bod v  unly.  which  is  able  to  receive  it.    ln<l 
it  would  be  more  than  presumption,  here  to  MB&rt,  that 
Hit-   -Tudy  of  Rhetorical  rules  will  injure  excellence 
in   wniiiii;  a   dNcouise:    in  order  to  this,    loni;  and 

.fill  application   to  study  and  practice  are  in 
sary.  even  for  the  bri-hte^t  and  most  creative  iy.  niue. 
At  the  same  time,  one  of  the  most  important  objects 
in  the  education  of  youth  is.  to  them  very  early 

in  life,  in  >nch  •  ire  calculated  to  produ- 

r  the  entertainments  of  taste.      From  a  relish 
for  these,  to  that  of  the  di  of  the  higher  and 

more  important  duties  of  life,  the  tran-iiion  ^illbe 
natural  and  easy.  From  those  minds  anioni;  our 
you  int  and  nolde  turn,  \s  e  may 

cheri-h  the  mosi  animating  and  pleaMn-  liope^.  On 
ih  .en  •  \\lio  manifest  an  entire  insen- 

La  of  eloquence,  poetry,  and 

the  line  arts uch   a*  music,  painting,   sculpture,  ar- 

(  hi  ue  can  expect  nothing  but 

•id  j)er\  .IK  linations  for  nothing 

••fan  inferior  order,  and  a  capacity 

ne  of  the  IO\M>I  mecliafiical  puisuits.  And 

piihy   si-ntiMice.   ••  K\   nihillo,  nihil  fit,"  will 

.th  of  thi-  character  ouu;lit  never 

to  i>e  compelled   to  in  the  study  of  the  liberal 

and  of  Rhetoric  and  the  Uelles-Lettres.  For 
they  only  become  objects  o\'  ridicule,  for  students  of 
elc\  .1  refined  taste:  and  a  dNujrace  to  their  pa- 

rents ami  »nr>re  intelligent  connexion-.    It  is,  however. 
to  a'hl  :!;  >se  of  opposite  character:  who  thirst  for  ln\r 
iu  the  higher,  ornamental  and  useful  arts. 


35 

this  little  compend  is  designed  ;  and  for  this  purpose 
the  following  compilation  from  Philosophical  and 
Rhetorical  productions  is  most  respectfully  presented. 


The  Origin  of  Language. 

Nothing,  perhaps,  is  more  evident,  than  the  posi- 
tion, that  oui  thoughts  can  never  he  considered  as  ob- 
jects of  attention,  for  the  external  senses.  In  order 
to  communicate  these  tu  other-,  the  earliest  method 
resorted  to,  was  undoubtedly  the  n-e  of  the  voice  and 
gesticulations.  And,  although  language  aiVi.rds  only 
audible  signs,  or  arbitrary  symbols  of  things,  yet  its 
superiority  to  gesture,  in  communication,  being  evinced 
by  its  greater  certainly  and  variety — it  has,  from  the 
Commencement  of  the  existence  of  onr race,  been  the 
great  and  universal  medium  of  menial  intercourse. 

The  great  similarity  of  the  vario;i^  IMI  used 

by  the  nations  of  the  earth,  however  remote  from  each 
other,  has  generally  been  considered  by  the  tear 
as  satisfactory  evidence  that  they  all  are  to  be  trac  -d 
to  the  same  origin.  We  indeed,  cannot  imagine  how 
tommunities  con  Id  exist,  without  language ;  and  it 
would  be  folly  in  the  extreme,  to  suppose  that  language 
existed  in  this  world  previously  to  the  existence  of 
society.  To  open  the  mouth  of  the  dumb,  and  to  cause 
their  organs  of  speech  to  utter  distinct  and  significant 
language,  required  the  exercise  of  that  powerful  intel- 
ligence who  made  them.  And  hence,  even  heathen 
philosophers,  have  ascribed  the  origin  of  primitive  lan- 
guage, to  the  invisible  and  unknown  God — and  tho>. 


10 


mi]  believe  Divine  revelation,  find  and  are 
satisfied  with  the  testimony,  that  God.  our  Maker,  at 
funiir-hed   man  with  the  faculties  of  reason  and 
iinlly  inil'.ienred  and  taught  him  how  to 
:  ci.se  them  in  his  intercourse  with  his  Maker.    We 
indeed,  know  not  how  great  a  degree  of  perfection, 
thai  language  had,  which  came  immediately  from  the 
allknowinu;  (iod  :  yet  it  may  he  fairly  supposed,  it 
not  only  sufficient  for  all  the  purposes  of  man,  but 
was  more  perfect  than  any  language  ever  spoken  by 
man,  since  he  experienced  the  eftects  of  that  bewilder- 
ing and   woful  shock,  which  the  apo-tacy   from   hi* 
Maker  occasioned!     It  being  sufficiently  dear,  there- 
.   that  the  exen  i-e  of  the  faculties,  of  reason  and 
!  hase  been  produced  by  a  divine  influence, 
and  word-  to  comniunicate  idea-,   on-mated  from  the 
MM-.   \ve  -hall,   in  the  next  extract,   furnish  a 
view  of  the  progress  of  both  language  and  writ 


Progress  of  Language  and  Writing. 

When  the  sphere  of  communication  became  enlarged 
it  became.  nece-*ar\  'o  have  names  applied  to  particu- 
lar object-:  and  the  (jueMion  now  is.  how  did  they  pro- 
I  in  this  application?  Certainly,  by  assimilating,  as 
mil'  h  a-  they  could,  the  sound  of  the  name  which  they 
gave,  to  the  nature  of  the  object  named  :  as  a  painter 
who  would  represent  grass,  must  make  u-e  of  ?i  ^reeii 
colour:  -o  in  the  infancy  of  language,  (as  some  wo'ild 
term  it)  one  employed  inj;ivini;  a  na-ne  t;>  any! 
harsh  or  boisterous,  would  employ  a  harsh  and  boi- 


ttrous  sound.     He  could  not  act  otherwise  without  of- 

fering violence  to  instinctive  reason,  and  an  insult  to 

his  Maker,  who  had  thus  taught  him.  And  hence  it  is? 

that  we  find  wherever  objects  were  to  be  distinguish- 

ed, in  which  sound,  action,  or  motion  were  included, 

the  resemblance  in  the  sound  of  the  words  is  always 

obvious.     Thus,  in  all  languages,  we  discover  a  mul- 

titude of  words  which  are  evidently  constituted  upon 

this  principle.     And  this  analogy  holds  good  in  all 

cases,  except,   where   neither  sound  nor  motion  are 

concerned  ;  and  here,  the  names  of  such  objects,  *s 

are  presented  to  the  sight,  and  those  terms  which  are 

appropriated  to  moral  and  immaterial  things,  it  is  ob- 

servable, that  the  analogy  is  not   always  so  \isible. 

Yet,  it  has  been  the  uniform  sentiment  of  the  learned, 

thai   it  is  not  entir  :    but  that  throughout  the 

radical  words  of  all  languages,  a  resemblance  lo  the 

object  named    is  obvious.     This   principle,  however, 

respects  language  in  its  early  and  most  simple  state; 

for  the  compiler  is  aware,    that  the  boundless  field 

which  has  been  occupied  by  the  nations,  and   which 

has  exhibited  innumerable   arbitrary  constructors  of 

language,  abounds   with  thousands,  and  tens  of  thou- 

sands, of  fanciful  and  irregular  terms,  arid  methods 

of  derivation  and  composition,  which  bear  no  resem- 

blance, in  sound,  to  the  character  of  their  roots,  or  to 

the  thing  signified.     And  words  as  \ve  now  use  iheuiy 

taken  generally,  may  be  considered  as  symbols,  but 

not  as  imitations  ;  as  instituted  and  arbitrary,  and  not 

the  natural  signs  of  idea*.     And  hence,  (he  inference. 

is  certainly  forcible,  that  language  in  its  primitive  and 

unadulterated  state  was.  undoubtedly,  more  natural, 


3ITY 


and.  as  it  came  u»  «  rcaiurcs  from  the  infinite  and  all 

perfect  (iod.  it  was  more  perfect  than  it  ever  has  ! 

.since    the    confusion   of   intellect    occasioned   by   the 

fall.    It  is.  nevertheless,  true,  that  lan^ua^e,  in  its  pro- 

.joni;  the  natim*.  has  become  (perhaps,  how- 

ever from  no  happy  necessity)  more  copious:  as  it  has 

the  h  \r;ity  of  its   figurative  style  which  was  its 

original  characteristic.     That  natural   and  vehement 

manner  of  speaking,  hy  tones  and  gestures,  has  been 

laid  asj<le,  and  instead  of  natural  and  ani- 

mated poetic  instructors,   we  are  now  furnished  with 

the  professedly  cool,  but  often  dangerous  philosopher! 

—  And   the.  style  of   a   philosopher  of   modern  day-. 

from  its  bcin:;  considered   more  simple,  cool  and  dis- 

h;is  sup  :1  the  ancient   metaphorical 

and  poetic  i  of  men.   in  their  intercourse   with 

i  other. 

is  an  Improvement  upon  speech,  and,  of 


roiirse  is  of  Inter  oriirin. 

Its  characters  arc  of  t\\o  kind-  for  words. 

and   si-ns    for  things.       The  alphabetical    charac 
which  \\e   now  employ,  an4  si^n*  lor  words:  and  the 
pictures,    hieroglyphics,    and   symbols,    employed   by 
the  ancients,  \\ere  -i^iis  for  thii 

Picture*  uere.  doubtless,  the  origin  of  writing.  — 
Mankind,  in  all  n^e-.  and  in  all  nations,  have  been 
instinctively  inclined  to  imitation.  This  course  would 
soon  be  employed  for  furnishini;  imperfect  descrip- 
tions of  events  and  records  of  their  existence.  Thus, 
to  represent  that  one  man  hud  slain  another,  they 
painted  the  form  of  a  dead  man  stretched  upon  the. 
ml.  and  of  his  ir.nrderer  standing  over  him,  armed 
\\ith  <ome  deadly  weapon. 


35 

When  America  was  first  discovered,  this  was  the 
only  kind  of  writing  with  which  \icans  were 

acquainted.  But  this  was  a  very  defective  expedient, 
as  in  recording  facts,  pictures  can  delineate  onl\  ex- 
ternal objects. 

The  use  of  hierogljphical  characters,  has  been  con- 
sidered as  the  second  stage  of  the  art  of  writing  — 
These  characters  consist  of  certain  symbols  which  are 
made  to  represent  immaterial  or  invisible  objects,  on 
account  of  a  certain  resemblance  which  such  symbols 
are  supposed  to  have  to  the  objects  in  question.  Thus, 
an  eye  was  the  symbol  of  knowledge,  and  a  circle, 
having  neither  beginning  nor  end,  the  hieroglyphic  of 
eternity.  This  kind  of  writing,  has  been  moM 
died  in  Egypt — There  it  is  found  to  have  been  reduced 
to  a  regular  art.  Through  this  medium  their  priests 
have.  al\\avs.  with  the  greatest  ••>ho\s  of  wisdom  and 
ivill-woiship,"  rommiinicated  their  instructions.  They 
have  introduced  animals  as  emblems  of  moral  subjects: 
for  instance — the  fly,  to  represent  imprudence — an 
ant,  wisdom — and  a  hawk,  to  represent  victory.  The, 
Chinese,  Japanese,  Tnnqniuese,  and  the  Cora?an^. 
have  all  used  similar  characters  in  wri'ing:  but  it  will 
always  be  found  confused  and  enigmatical,  and  to  be 
an  extremely  defective  medium  of  knowledge  ;  as  also, 
that  of  arbitrary  marks,  as  the  signs  of  objects,  a  man- 

of  writing  adopted  )*\  the  Peruvians. 
Our  arithmetical  figures,  are,  however,  like  the  hie 
roglyphical  character,  signs  of  things  and  not  of  words. 
They  have  no  dependence  whatever,  upon  words  ;  as 
each  figure  is  a  representation  of  a  number  for  which 
it  stands  ;  and,  consequently,  is  as  well  understood  by 


40  » 

one   na;  another,    where,  they    have  mutually 

adopted  the  use  of  Mich  figures.  To  remedy  all  the 
defects,  ambiguities,  and  prolixity  of  the  foregoing 
methods  of  comuv.Miiration,  as  the  first  step,  si-n*; 
were  invented,  which  did  not  stand  distinctly  for 
thing*,  but  for  the  icordu,  by  which  things  were  na- 
med. This  \\.i-i  an  alphabet  of  syllables,  which 
prior  to  the  invention  of  our  alphabet  of  letters.  It 
lid,  sn«  ilphabct  is  preserved  even  to  the 

v-nt  period,  in  ^Ethiopia  and  the  Indies.  But 
this  has  been  found  deficient  and  ineffectual,  as  it  re- 
tains much  of  that  prolixity  and  confusion  which  cha- 
racter i /P.  symbolic  writini;.  To  whom  the  world  i- 
indebted  for  the  di-rmery  of  letter-,  is  a  question 

;  been  distinctly  settled.      We, 

hoNv-Ncr.  know,  they  were  brought  into  Greece,  by  one 
Cadmus,  a  Phu-niciaii.  who  was  a  cotemporary  with 
kin-.;  David.  His  alphabet,  however,  contained  only 
•en  letters:  the  other  letter-  were  subsequently- 
added,  as  appropriate  sign*  for  sound*  were  found  to 
be  wanting.  The  Hebrew.  Phu-nician,  Greek,  and 
Roman  alphabets,  hear  M>  :  rr-emhlance  as  to 

fi^ii,  and  the  order  of  the  letters,  that  there 

remains  no  doubt,  hut.  ihey  all  \\ere  derived  from  one 
and  the  same  origin.  The  ancient  order  of  writing, 
was  from  the  right  hand  to  the  left;  and  this  method 
appears  from  a  variety  of  old  inscriptions,  to  have 
prevailed  even  in  Greece.  After  thi>.  however,  the 
Greeks  practised  writing  alternately  from  the  right  to 
the  left,  and  from  the  left  to  the  right.  This  practice 
was  coniinucd  until  the  days  of  Solon,  the  celebrated 
.  who  gave  law  to  Athens,  forty  ye;.i- 


Jn  process  of  time,  beginning  from  the  left  and  pro- 
ceeding  to  the  right  being  found  more  natural  and 
convenient,  this,  which  is  our  present  order  of  writ- 
ing,  was  adopted,  and  has  generally  obtained  through- 
out the  civilized  world. 

This  art  was  first  exercised  on  pillars,  and  tables 
of  stone — afterwards  on  plates  of  softer  metals,  such 
as  lead  ;  and  becoming  more  extensively  practised, 
some  nations  resorted  to  the  use  of  the  leaves  and 
bark  of  certain  trees ;  and  others  to  tablets  of  wood, 
which  they  covered  with  a  thin  coat  of  soft  wax,  up- 
on which  they  produced  the  designed  impression  with 
a  plate,  or  stylus  of  iron.  Parchment  manufactured 
from  the  skins  of  animals,  was  a  later  invention — and 
paper,  which  we  now  use,  was  an  invention  of  the  four- 
teenth century. 


Of  Taste  ;  its  Characteristics  and  Pleasures. 

Taste,  has  been  defined,  to  be  the  power  of  receiv- 
ing pleasure  and  pain  from  the  beauties  and  deformi- 
ties of  nature  and  art.  li  is  a  faculty,  which  is  com- 
mon to  all  mankind. 

To  have  some  discernment  of  beauty  and  deformity, 
is  no  less  essential  to  man,  than  the  faculties  of  rea- 
son and  speech.  The  most  prominent  characteristics 
of  a  cultivated  taste  are,  Delicacy,  and  Correctness. 
Delicacy  of  taste,  refers  principally  to  that  natural 
sensibility  on  which  taste  is  founded  ;  and  supposes 

6 


a  possession  of  those  exquisite  and  acute  organs,  01 
powers,  which  enable  us  to  discern  beauiies  which 
elude  the  notice  of  a  vulgar  eje. 

Correctness  of  taste,  is  a  phrase,  which  denotes  the 
improvement  which  that  faculty  receives  through  the 
medium  and  exercise  of  the  understanding.  And  a 
m.ui  of  correct  taste  will  rarely  lie  decoyed  by  ficti- 
tious beauties;  but  carries  a  standard  of  sound  sense 
in  his  own  mind,  by  which  he  is  enabled  to  bestow  a 
relative  and  proper  estimate  upon  those  productions 
of  genius  which  come  in  his  way.  This  is  not,  how- 
ever, an  arbitrary  principle,  subject  to  the  fancy  and 
and  caprice  of  every  individual ;  but  admits  of  a  cri- 
terion, by  which  we  may  determine  whether  it  be  true 
or  false.  There  are  beauties  which,  if  displayed  ia 
a  happy  manner  will  be  universally  pleasing;  and 
will  be  ceasi -It >*ly  and  universally  admired.  In  all 
Compositions,  whatever  powerfully  affects  the  imagi- 
nation and  the  heart,  will  give  pleasure  to  men,  of 
every  age,  and  nation. 

By  criticism,  is  to  be  understood  the  application  of 
taste,  and  refined  sense,  to  the  several  fine  arts.  It 
originates  wholly  in  experience;  or  in  the  observa- 
tion of  those  beauties  which  have  been  found  gene- 
rally pleasing  to  man.  Genius  is  a  word  which  ex- 
tends much  farther  than  to  the  objects  of  taste — it  de- 
notes that  talent  which  we  have  received  from  our 
Alaker,  and  which,  prepares  us  to  excel  in  any  thing 
upon  which  we  may  be  employed.  This  may  be 
Vi«*tly  improved  by  study  and  art,  but  can  never  be 
by  them  produced.  This  faculty  is  of'li  higher  order 
*hau  that  of  taste  :  as  we  find  many  persons  who  have 


a  refined  and  elegant  taste,  in  the  fine  and  polite  arts 
— but,  who  are,  nevertheless,  unable  to  execute  any 
one  of  them  in  an  excellent  manner. 

The  principal  sources  of  the  pleasures  of  taste,  are 
sublimity  and  beauty;  whether  we  refer  to  objects, 
or  composition.  Tin*  sublime  in  writing;  must  always 
be  laid  in  the.  nature  of  the  object  described. 

Of  all  writings,  of  any,  and  every  age  of  the  world, 
the  sacred  scriptures,  afford  the  most  happy  and 
striking  instances  of  the  sublime. 

Beauty,  next  to  sublimity,  is  supposed  to  afford 
the  highest  and  most  exquisite  pleasure  to  the  imagi- 
nation. Colour,  Jigiire,  motion  and  imitation,  arc 
all  considered  sources  of  the  pleasures  of  taste.  .Melo- 
dy, and  harmony,  also,  contribute  in  a  high  degree  to 
the  same  end  ;  and  icit,  humour,  and  ridicule,  afford 
a  great  source  of  pleasure  to  this  faculty — but  we 
have  neither  time  nor  liberty,  to  extend  the.  extract 
any  further,  but  proceed  to  exliibit  the  subject  of 
Style. 


Style,  Perspicuity,  and  Precision. 


Style  has  been  defined,  to  be  the  peculiar  manner 
in  which  a  man  expresses  his  conceptions  by  means 
of  language.  It  is  a  picture  of  the  ideas  which  occupy 
his  mind,  and  of  the  order  in  which  they  are  there 


It 

produced.  The  principal  qualities  of  a  good  style, 
are  two — which  are  denominated,  Perspicuity  and 
Ornament. 

The  study  of  these  is  indispensible  in  the  formation 
of  a  proper  style.  Perspicuity,  claims  attention  first, 
in  the  choice  of  words  and  phrases,  and  then  in  the 
construction  of  our  sentences.  And  when  we  regard 
perspicuity  as  it  respects  words,  and  phrases,  it  re- 
quire 9  ^unty,  propriety,  and  precision.  Purity,  is  a 
term  used,  to  denote  the  use  of  such  words,  and  such 
a  mode  of  constructing  them,  as  is  conformahle  to  the 
idiom  of  the  language  which  we  use.  This  sentiment, 
it  is  apparent,  is  opposed  to  the  use  of  those  words 
and  phrases,  which,  are  either  taken  from  other  lan- 
guages ;  or,  are  obsolete,  newly  coined,  or  such  as 
are  derived  from  nd  proper  authority.  Propriety  ex- 
hibits the  selection  of  such  words,  in  composing,  as 
the  best  and  most  prevailing  usage  has  appropriated 
to  those  ideas  we  design  to  communicate  by  them. 
Precision  denotes  the  pruning  of  our  composition; 
and  excluding  every  thing  superfluous — so  that  the 
words  used  should  express  neither  more  nor  less, 
than  a  precise  and  perfect  transcript  of  the  ideas  we 
posst 

A  due  attention  to  these  particulars  will,  through 
the  habit  of  steady  practice,  soon  enable  the  orator  to 
find  his  style  improving. 


THE  COMMON  CHARACTERS  OF  STYLE,  have  been  ar- 
ranged, by  Rhetoricians,  in  the  following  class  — 
viz.  the  diffuse  concise,  feeble,  nervous,  dry,  plain, 
neat,  elegant,  flowery. 

That  different  subjects  require,  in  order  to  be  treat- 
ed properly,  different  kinds  of  style,  is  a  position  so 
obviously  correct,  that  it  needs  no  illustration.  Every 
intelligent  reader  knows  that  an  oration  would  require 
a  different  style,  from  that,  which  would  be  proper, 
in  a  philosophical  essay.  And  it  often  happens, 
that  an  alteration  in  the  of  style  is  necessary  in  the 
different  parts  of  the  same  composition.  Still,  in  all 
this  variety,  we  expect  to  perceive,  in  the  composition 
of  the  same  man,  some  prevailing  characteristic  of 
style  and  manner,  which  shall  be  suited  to  his  genius, 
and  show  the  impress  of  his  peculiar  turn  of  mind. 
A  diffuse  writer,  unfolds,  and  displays  his  ideas  in  a 
full  and  glowing  manner — a  concise  one  in  the  fewest 
\vords  possible.  The  nervous  and  feeble,  are  terms 
or  characters  of  style,  which  generally  represent  the 
same  ideas,  as  those  denominated  the  concise  and  dif- 
fuse, though  it  is  frequently  observed,  that  diffuse 
writers  exhibit  no  ordinary  degree  of  strength.  And 
a  nervous  writer,  having  his  mind  always  filled  with 
his  subject,  will  give  us  a  forcible  and  deep  impres- 
sion of  what  he  communicates.  Every  phrase,  and 
figure  which  he  uses,  renders  the  assemblage  of  ima- 
gery, which  he  sets  before  us,  more  splendid,  interest- 
ing, and  perfect.  The  foregoing  characteristics,  how- 
ever,  respect  more  particularly,  the  expressiveness  of 


an"  authors    meaning.      The  following   terms,    re- 
spect the  degree  of  ornament,  which  he  employs,   to 
grace,  or  embellish  his  style;  viz.  a  <lry,  a  plain,  a 
neat,  an  elegant,  and  a  flowery  style.     We  define 
them  thu« — a  dry  style,    is  that  which  entirely  ex- 
eludes  all  kinds  of  ornament — a  plain  style  rises,  in- 
deed,  a  little  upon  the  dry;  but  admits  of  no  consider- 
able ornament,  as  its  author  relies,  almost  exclusive- 
ly, upon  his  sense.     A  neat  style,  approximates   the 
region  of  ornament,  but  not  of  the  splendid  kind.    A 
writer  of  this  style,  by  his  selection  of  words  and  their 
graceful    location,    evinces    great    partiality  for   the 
beauties  of  language.     His  sentences  are  always  freo 
from  the  incumbrances  of  superfluous  words  ;  of  a  mo- 
derate length,   and  inclining  more  to  brevity,  than  to 
a  swelling  sonorous  structure,  and  generally  come  to 
a  graceful,  and  musical  close.     This  kind  of  style  is 
never  improperly  adopted,  let  the  subject  of  the  wri- 
ter be  what  it  may.       An    elegant  style  denotes    a 
iter  degree  of  ornament  still;  and    with    this   we 
associate  all  the  virtues  and  excellencies  of  ornament, 
in  our  power.     It,  however,  implies  great  precision, 
and  propriety;  purity  in  the  choice  of  words  :  and  a 
skilful  and  happy  talent,  in  giving  them  a  harmoni- 
ous arrange  nent.     It,   moreover,  implies  the  spread- 
ing over  style  all  the  beautie*  of  the   imagination,  as 
far  as  the  subject  will  allow  it — and  all  the  illustra- 
tion afforded   by  tropes  and  figures,    when  properly 
employed.     A  writer,  of  an  elegant  style,  will  never 
fail  to  delight  the  fancy  and  the  ear;  and  whilst  he  is 
imparting   information  to  the  mind,  though  he  may 
clothe  his  ideas  with  all  the  beauties  and  chastened 


47 

splendours  of  expression  ;  he  must  be  careful  never  to 
overload  them  with  ill-limed,  and  misplaced  frippery. 
A  florid  style,  imports  excessive  ornament,  and  in 
young  writers  is,  on  the  whole,  considered  desirable. 
But,  it  always  requires  pruning;  and  the  fustian, 
tinsel  splendour  of  language,  which  some  writers  con- 
tinually exhibit,  is  pitiable  and  contemptible.  They 
seem  not  to  know,  indeed,  the  difference  which  ex- 
ists between  a  luscious  collection  of  words,  and  an 
exuberant  collection  of  the  images  of  an  enlivened, 
and  creative  fancy.  Hence,  the  man  of  sense,  on  wit- 
nessing  such  production^  :  especially,  if  the  sentiment 
intended  to  be  enforced,  be  either  erroneous,  or  of  lit- 
tle importance,  (as  is  most  frequently  the  case  with 
writers  of  this  style,)  \\ill  always  think,  that,  "  far- 
thest from  them  is  best." 

Simple,  affected,  and  vehement  STYLE,  defined  and 
illustrated — and  some  DIRECTIONS, /or  the  forming 
of  a  proper  STYLE. 

The  term  simplicity,  when  applied  to  composition, 
is,  like  many  other  critical  ones,  often  used  too  inde- 
finitely; and  the  principal  cause  of  this  mistake  is 
found,  in  the  fact  that  writers  have  given  this  term, 
a  great  variety  of  meanings.  It  is  proper,  therefore, 
here,  to  make  a  distinction  between  them ;  and  to 
show,  in  few  words  as  possible,  how  simplicity,  is 
properly  applied  to  style.  There  are  four  distinct 
senses  in  which  this  word  is  used,  by  rhetorical  wri- 
ters. The  first,  is  simplicity  of  composition,  which  is 
opposed  to  too  great  a  variety  of  parts.  The  second, 


48 

is  simplicity  of  thought,  which  is  opposed  to  refine- 
ment. I  he  third,  i*  that  \\hicli  is  opposed  to  orna- 
ment, and  pomp  of  language — ami  the  fourth  i-  that 
simplicity  which  appears  in  the  easy  and  natural  man- 
ner in  which  our  language  expresses  our  thoughts. 
In  this  last  sense,  simplicity  is  compatible  with  the 
highest  ornament.  Homer,  for  instance,  exhibits  this 
simplicity,  in  the  highest  perfection,  and  yet,  no 
wiher  ever  moved  a  pen,  which  was  followed  by  such 
splendid  ornament  and  beauty.  This  is  a  simplicity 
which  always  cherishes  ornament,  but  not  that  which 
is  affected;  and  is  a  primary  excellence  in  composi- 
tion. The  man  who  has  attained  this,  gives  no  evi 
dence  of  art  in  his  expression*,  but  appears  the  real 
child  of  nature.  It  is  not  a  writer,  and  labourer,  that 
we  here  behold;  but  the  man.  in  his  own  natural  cha- 
racter. However  rich  in  his  expressions,  and  full  in 
hi-  figures  and  his  fancy,  these  will  appear  to  flow- 
voluntarily,  an  I  without  difficulty;  not,  however,  be- 
cause he  seems  to  have  studied  his  subject  well,  but, 
because  it  is  a  manner  of  exprpgsiou,  which,  apparent- 
ly, perfectly  accords  with  his  taste,  his  circumstances, 
and  his  nature.  An  affected  style,  is  precisely  the  re~ 
verse  of  a  simple  one;  and  a  vehement  style,  denotes 
strength,  and  alv  r  oids  w  ith  simplicity.  It  is  dis 

tinguished  by  a  peculiar  ardor.  It  is  the  language  of  a 
man  whose  imaginations  and  passions  are  glow  ing  and 
impetuous.  Paying  little  attention  to  the  graces,  he 
bears  down  with  the  force  and  thunder  of  a  tremen- 
dous torrent.  And  this  is  the  proper  style,  for  the 
higher  kinds  of  oratory — such  was  the  style  of  a  De~ 
moslhenes;  and;  sometimes,  of  a  Cicero.  Having  stat- 


eel,  and  briefly  explained  the  different  characters  of 
style;  we  shall  conclude  with  giving  a  few  directions 
for  attaining  excellence  in  the  art  of  composition. 

Tin'  first  rule  is,  to  become  possessed  of  clear  ideas 
on  the  subject,  upon  which  we  attempt  to  write  or 
speak. 

The  second  is.  to  compose  frequently;  but  not  in  a 
hasty  and  careless  habit,  as  this  will  lead  us  to  ac- 
quire a  bad  style.  On  the  contrary,  we  must  always, 
in  composing,  exercise  the  greatest  care,  particularly, 
when  we  commence  the  practice.  The  third  is  to 
make  ourselves  familiar  with  the  productions  of  the 
best  and  most  approved  authors.  The  fourth  is,  to 
guard  with  great  care,  against  an  imitation  of  any 
particular  author.  The  fifth  is,  always  to  endeavour 
to  adapt  our  style  to  the  subject,  and  to  the  capacity 
of  our  hearers,  or  readers.  The  sLvthj  and  last  rulo 
is,  to  pay  particular  attention  to  our  thoughts.  Let 
the  thoughts,  or  ideas  always  be  important.  Let  it 
never  be  said  of  you,  reader,  that  you  are  rick  in 
<1s,  but^oorin  sentiment. 


form  of  a  Regular  Discourse. 

We  here  present  a  form  proper  to  be  observed  in 
making  an  oration,  or  any  public  discourse.  The 
number  of  parts,  requisite  to  form  a  regular  discourse, 
is  six  and  are  denominated — the  exordium,  the  divi- 
sion, the  explication,  and  the  reasoning;  the  pathetic, 

7 


and  the  conclusion.  Tt  is,  however,  not  always  neces- 
sary to  incorporate  t)>e  whole  in  every  discourse  :  nor 
that  they  should  always  be  subject  to  the  order  hero 
prescribed.  Kxielleut  discourses  are  frequently  met 
\vitii,  in  which  some  of  the  parts  here  enumerated,  arc 
entirely  omitted.  Still,  they  are  the  natural  and  neces- 
sary constituents  of  a  well  formed  and  regular  dis- 
course. And  it  is  of  no  inconsiderable  consequence 
to  an  orator,  that  he  understand  how  to  construct  them 
well.  The  design  of  an  introduction  or  exordium,  is 
to  engage  the  attention  of  the  audience,  and  prepare 
their  minds  to  yield  to  the  art  of  persuasion.  And 
the  most  able  writers  have  often  fmind  the  execution 
of  this  part  of  a  discourse  more  difficult  than  that  of 
any  other.  And  hence  it  so  often  occurs,  that  intro- 
ductions, particularly  those  delivered  "extempore," 
are  neither  suited  to  the  nature  of  the  subject  to  be 
digressed,  nor  to  make  a  favourable  impression  upon 
the  audience.  Fo  prevent  an  experience  of  this,  evil, 
public  speakers  <.houN  *p;ire  no  pains,  until  they  have 
acquired  the  talent,  of  executing  this  with  the  most 
delicate  refinements  of  art.  It  slio  ill  be  always  na- 
tural, and  consist  of  ide.i*  -ingested  by  the  subject, 
and  the  circuw-  -»f  the  occasion.  It  should  be 

char;u-terised  by  corre<  md  great  modesty;  not, 

however,  betraying  servility,  nor  anticipating  any  ma- 
terial  part  of  tin*  suhj  ct;  atid  it  should  be  duly  pro- 
portioned as  to  its  length. 

I  lie  execution  of  the  part  of  a  discourse,  which  ge- 
nerally comes  next  after  the  introduction,  viz.  tin*  di- 
vision, or  proposition:  should  be  clear  and  distinct, 
aud  as  concise  aiid  simple  as  possible — and  the  seve- 


ral  parts,  whether  formally  announced  or  not,  should  be 
Really  distinct  from  each  other;  that  is,  no  one  should 
include  another.  And  here  we  should  be  careful  to 
follow  the  order  of  nature — beginning  with  the  must 
simple  points,  and  thence  proceeding  to  the  discussion 
of  those  which  are  the  most  important,  and  which 
suppose  the  former  to  be  known. 

The  division  of  the  discourse  should  be  such,  as 
appears  the  most  natural  to  the  subject ;  and  when 
this  is  the  case — when  the  basis  of  a  discourse  is  thus 
formed,  the  speaker  or  writer  is  prepared  to  proceed, 
and  will  encourage  the  hearer,  or  reader,  to  expect 
an  interesting  and  elegant  discourse. 

With  respect  to  the  style  and  manner,  proper  to  be 
used,  in  either  popular,  or  philosophical  essays,  or  ser- 
mons ;  it  may  be  proper  to  observe  that  attention  to 
the  best  authors,  and  those  remarks  upon  the  sub- 
ject, which  are  to  be  found  in  this  compilation,  with  a 
due  degree  of  practice  and  care,  in  the  art  of  com- 
posing; will  furnish  correct  and  ample  instructions. 


History. 

History  is  a  record  of  events,  and  characters,  for 
the  instruction  and  benefit  of  mankind  ;  and  the  seve- 
ral characteristics  of  an  historian  should  be  impartia- 
lity, fidelity,  gravity,  aud  dignity.  A  due  order  and 


connexion,  and  a  clear  ami  elevated  style  are  almost 
indispensable  in  historical  productions. 


Philosophical  Writing. 

The  professed  and  <ole  object  of  philosophy  is  in- 
struction. Hence,  with  philosophic  writers,  style, 
form,  and  dress,  are  considerations  of  minor  con^e- 
quence.  It  is,  however,  pioper  to  remark,  that  th.iy 
ought  not  to  he  entirely  nr^lfried  ;  for  the  sa;iit».  syl- 
logistic and  philosophic  reasonings,  clothed  in  an  ele- 
gant style,  are  more  imposing  and  interesting,  tlim 
they  ever  can  he,  in  one  that  is  unfashionable,  d'lll, 
and  dry.  Strict  precision,  and  accuracy,  are  in- 
dispensable characteristics  of  philosophic  writin.;*  ; 
but  these  may  easily  he  exhibited  without  resorting 
to  the  use  of  a  dry  style.  We  have  examples  of  this 
kind  of  writing,  which  are  highly  polished  specimens 
of  style  ;  anil,  whilst  it  is  urged,  that  the  more  mode- 
rate figures  of  speech  are  admissible  and  desirable, 
here;  it  must  be  remembered,  that  a  florid,  and  tumid 
style  are  always  to  be  avoided  The  elegant  and 
beautiful  style  of  Plato,  and  Cicero  ;  the  rich  and 
splendid  one  of  Seneca;  are  very  happy  specimens  of 
a  proper  style  :  and  the  style  of  Mr.  Locke,  in  his 
Treatise  on  the  Luman  Lndrrstandinu;,  is,  perhaps, 
the  best  model  extant,  oi'  a  clear,  distinct,  and  proper 
philosophic  style. 


Epistolary  Writing. 

In  "Epistolary  composition,  the  two  principal  charac- 
teristics, are  familiarity  and  ease;  and  the  fundamental 
requisites  are  nature,  simplicity,  sprigh  illness,  and 
wit.  '('lie  style  of  letters,  should  give  no  evidence  of 
study  :  hut  appear,  like  that  of  animated  conversation, 
to  flow  with  perfect  ease.  Lord  J.olingbroke  and 
Hishop  Atterbury  have  furnished  finished  specimens 
of  this  kind  of  composition.  Mr.  Pope's  are  less 
happy,  as  they  exhihit  a  tie  Ution,  and  too  much  s  udy. 
Balzac  and  Voiture,  in  French,  have  been  celebrated 
for  this  kind  of  style ;  and,  of  a  familiar  correspon- 
dence, the  most  elegant  and  accomplished  model,  is 
that  of  the  letters  of  Madame  de  Savigne.  These 
abound  with  ease,  variety,  gprightliness,  and  beauty: 
and  of  many  letter  writers,  in  English,  perhaps  no 
one  has  furnished  a  more  perfect  model  than  that  of 
the  celebrated  Lady  Mary  Wortluy  Montague. 


Fictitio  us  Histo ry. 

This  species  of  writing  includes  a  numerous,  but, 
generally  speaking,  an  insignificant  and  worthless 
class  of  writings,  called  romances  and  novels.  The 
influence,  however,  of  these  productions,  is  acknow- 
ledged to  be  universally  great  5  and,  though  this  kind 


.       31 

of  composition  has  usually  been  employed  for  the  ac- 
complishment of  mischievous  and  ruinous  purposes, 
yet.  nevertheless,  it  might  become  productive  of  iuo*t 
desirable  eftVcts.  When  the  object  of  a  writer  of 
romance,  or  novels,  is  to  depict  human  life  and  man- 
ners ;  the  erratic  wanderings,  as  well  as  the  perfec- 
tions of  the  passions  and  the  mind — if  the  production 
be  well  executed — it  may  be  perused  with  no  less  ad- 
vantage than  pleasure.  And,  in  accordance  with  this 
sentiment,  even  wise  men,  in  different  countries,  have 
propagated  knowledge  through  the  medium  of  fables 
and  fictitious  writings — an<l  Lord  Bacon  has  observ- 
ed, that  the  common  affiirs  of  life,  are  insufficient  to 
en^ai;e  the  mind  of  men  of  the  world; — they  must 
U  of  th.'ir  own,  and  wander  into  the  rc- 
gi(»n«5  of  imagination. 

Tin'  compiler  is.  nevertheless,  unalterably  fixed  in 
the  «enti-nent,  that  romances  and  novel*,  taken  in  the, 
aJWegate.  an*  to  be  condemned  ;  as  they  have iC'insli- 
t(it-(l  no  in'-onsidiT.ih'u'  p-irt  of  that  complex  and  fear- 
ful machinery  of  corruption,  which,  in  its  mercil 
and  tremendous  course,  from  its  commencement  with 
n.  in  the  -;nlen  of  Kdt-n,  who  successfully  acl- 
dressed  the  prisons  of  Kve,  with  a  deceptive  and 
damnable  tale,  has  drawn  within  its  vortex,  the  pos- 

sor*  of  beauty,  virtue,  talents,  and  integrity;  and, 
after  tormenting  and  grinding  them  into  d'ist,  has 
driven  their  infinitely  precious  souls  to  the  dark  and 
bottomless  aby** ! 

Novels  !— Romances  !— Reader!  «  mark  them— 

.'i  from  them,  and  pass  away!" 


Nature  of  Poetry— its  origin  and  progress. 

Of  the  origin  of  Poetry,  we  may  observe,  it  undoubt- 
edly existed  prior  to  what  is  now  culled  prose.  Event 
the  definition  which  is  given  of  it,  would  lead  to  this 

conclusion. 

Poetry  is  the  language  of  passion,  or  enlivened 
imagination;  formed  most  commonly  into  regular  num- 
bers. The  object  of  a  poet  is  to  please  and  to  move 
us,  and  hence  his  address  is  always  made  to  the  pas- 
sions and  imagination.  Man  is,  naturally,  both  a 
poet  and  a  musician.  The  same  impulse  which  in- 
duces us  to  use  an  enthusiastic  poetic  style,  will  pro- 
duce an  elevnfed  and  harmonious  modulation  of  the 
voice.  Indeed  music  and  poetry  are  united  in  song, 
anil  mutually  a^Ut  and  exalt  each  other.  The  first 
poets  sung  their  own  productions;  and  hence  the  ori- 
gin of  what  we  call  versification  or  the  at  ran^-mrut 
of  words  to  some  tune,  or  harmony.  Poems  and 
songs,  are  amoii'z;  the  antiquities  of  all  countries;  and 
the  occasions  upon  which  they  have  been  composed, 
are  nearly  the  same.  They  comprise  the  celebration 
of  gods,  of  heroes,  and  of  victories.  They  abounded 
with  enthusiastic  and  fine  imagery,  and  are  generally 
characterized  by  wildness,  irregularity  and  splendor. 
In  the  progress  of  society,  however  poems  assume 
different  forms; — the  variety  of  poetic  composition  is 
separated  into  classes,  and  the  merit  and  appropriate 
rules  of  each,  are  distinctly  assigned  Odes,  elegies 
epic  poems?  and  dramatic  and  didactic  poetry,  are  aU 


50 

subject  to  particular  rcgmtations,  and  are  proper  ob- 
jects for  the  refined  and  discerning  critic. 

XV  e  might  furnish  remarks  upon  the  various  kinds 
of  poetry,  sufficient  to  make  a  volume.  Many  ele- 
gant productions  exist,  which  are  more  in:.  han 
useful.  Pastoral,  lyric,  didactic,  and  descriptive  po- 
etry, have  severally  engaged  the  attention  and  efforts 
of  the  ingenious  and  the  learned  ;  hut  the  brevity  pro- 
posed by  the  compiler,  will  not  admit  of  his  giving 
them  a  place  in  this  compilation. 


On  the  Eloquence  of  the  P  ill  pit. 

Tin1  importance  of  pulpit  eloquence,  is  acknowledg- 
ed by  all;  and  the  ungracious  and  slovenly  raan.ier, 
frequently  complained  of,  in  whirh  many  preachers 
treat  their  auditories,  calls  imperatively  upon  students 
in  divinity,  to  pay  more  attention  to  this  subject  than 
lias  heretofore  been  bestowed.  The  following  senti- 
ments, from  Dr.  Blair,  are  highly  important,  and  will 
doubtless  afford  both  entertainment  and  a  source  of 
real  improvement. 

This  field  of  public  speaking  has,  evidently,  several  advan- 
tages peculiar  to  itself.  The  dignity  and  importance  of  its 
tubjects  must  be  allowed  to  be  superior  to  any  other.  They 
admit  of  the  highest  embellishments  in  description,  and  the 
greatest  warmth  and  vehemence  of  expression.  In  treating 
his  subject,  the  preacher  has  also  peculiar  advantages.  He 
speaks  not  to  one  or  a  few  judges,  but  to  a  numerous  assem- 
bly. He  is  not  afraid  of  interruption.  He  chooses  his  sub- 


57 

at  leisure;  and  has  all  the  assistance  which  the  most 
accurate  premeditation  can  afford  him.  The  disadvantages, 
however,  which  attend  the  eloquence  of  the  pulpit,  are  by 
no  means  inconsiderable.  The  preacher,  it  is  true,  has  no 
contention  *vith  an  adversary  ;  but  debate  awakens  genius, 
and  excites  attention.  His  subjects,  though  noble,  are  trite 
and  common.  They  are  become  so  familiar  to  the  public 
ear,  that  it  require**,  no  orc'inary  genius  in  the  preacher,  to 
fix  the  attention  of  his  hearers.  Nothing  is  more  difficult, 
than  to  bestow  on  what  is  common  the  grace  of  novelty.  Be- 
sides, the  subject  of  the  preacher  usually  confines  him  to  ab- 
stract qualities,  to  virtues,  and  vices  ;  whereas.,  that  ot  other 
popular  speakers  leads  them  to  treat  of  persons ;  which  is  a 
subject  generally  more  interesting  to  the  hearers,  and  which 
occupies  more  powerfully  the  imagination.  We  are  taught 
by  the  preacher  to  detest  only  the  crime  ;  by  the  pleader  to 
detest  the  criminal.  Hence  it  happens,  that  though  the 
number  of  moderate!)  i;ood  preachers  is  great,  there  are  so 
few  who  have  arrived  at  eminence.  Perfection  is  very  dis- 
tant, indeed,  from  modern  preaching.  The  object,  however, 
is  truly  noble  and  illustrious  ;  and  worthy  of  being  pursued 
with  attention,  ardor,  and  perseverance. 

To  excel  in  preaching,  it  is  necessary  to  have  a  fixed  and 
habitual  view  of  its  end  and  object.  This,  undoubtedly,  is 
to  persuade  men  to  become  <*«»r".i.  Every  sermon  ou 
consequently,  to  be  a  persuasive  oration.  It  is  not  to  dis- 
cuss some  abstruse  point,  that  the  preacher  ascends  the  pul- 
pit. It  is  not  to  teach  his  hearers  something  new,  but  to 
make  them  better  :  to  give  them,  at  the  sa-nc  time,  clear 
views,  and  persuasive  impressions  of  religious  truth. 

The  principal  characteristics  of  pulpit  eloquence,  as  distin- 
guished from  the  other  kinds  of  public  speaking,  appear  to  be 
these  two — gravity  and  warmth.  It  is  neither  easy  nor  com- 
mon to  unite  fhese  characters  of  eloquence.  The  grave,  when 
it  is  too  predominant,  becomes  a  dull,  uniform  solemnity 
'xThe  warm,  when  appit  wants  gravity,  too  near  the.roaches 

8 


60 

cumsunees,  you  are  sure  of  his  attention.    No  study,  here-r 
fore,  is  mor*.  v  for  a  preacher,  than  the  study  of  hu-r 

man  life,  and  of  the  human  heart-  To  be  able  to  discover 
a  man  to  himself,  in  a  light  in  which  he  never  saw  his  own 
character  before,  produces  a  wonderful  effect.  Those  ser- 
mons, though  the  most  difficult  in  composition,  are  not  only 
the  most  beautiful,  but  also  the  most  useful,  which  are 
founded  on  the  illustration  of  some  peculiar  character,  or 
remarkable  piece  of  history,  in  the  sacred  writings  ;  by  the 
pursuit  of  which,  we  may  trace,  and  lay  open,  some  of  the 
most  secret  windings  of  the  human  heart  Other  topics  of 
pn-aching  have  become  trite  and  common  ;  but  this  is  an 
extensive  field,  which  has  hitherto  been  little  explored,  and 
possesses  all  the  advantages  of  being  curious,  new,  and  in 
the  highest  degree  useful.  Bishop  Butler's  sermon  on  the 
character  of  Balaam,  is  an  example  of  this  kind  of  preach- 
ing 

Fashion,  which  operates  so  extensively  on  human  man- 
ners, has  given  to  preaching,  at  different  times,  a  change  of 
character.  This,  however,  is  a  torrent,  which  swells  to-day 
and  subsides  to-morrow.  Sometimes  poetical  preaching  is 
sometimes  philosophical  : — at  one  time  it  must 
be  all  nathetic  ;  at  another  all  argumentative;  according  as 
some  celebrated  preacher  has  afforded  the  example.  Each 
of  these  modes  in  the  extreme,  is  very  defective  ;  and  he 
who  conforms  himself  to  it,  will  both  confine  his  genius, 
an'!  corrupt  it.  Truth  and  good  sense  are  the  only  basis  on 
which  he  can  build  with  safety  Mode  and  humour  are 
feeble  and  unsteady.  No  example,  however  admired,  should 
be  servilely  imitated.  From  various  examples,  the  preacher 
may  collect  materials  for  improvement ;  but  the  servility  of 
imitation  will  extinguish  his  yenius,  and  expose  its  poverty 
fo  his  hearers. 


^ELECTIONS, 


IN  POETRY  AND  PROSE, 


Extract  from  Cain  —  a  Mystery  —  u\  LORD  BVK« 

A(  T    IH.    S(   KNE  I. 

The  Earth  near  /.'</<•>/,  «.v  /«  wfc/  I. 

Enter  Cain  ami  Adah. 
^Ldah.  Hush  !  tread  softly,  Cain. 
Cain.  I  will;  but  wherefore? 

Adah.  Our  little  Enoch  sleeps  upon  yon  bed 
Of  leaves,  beneath  the  cypress. 

Cain.  Cypress!   'tis 

A  gloomy  tree,  which  looks  as  if  it  mourn'd 

vhat  it  shadows;  w  'icreiorc  didst  thou  choose  it 
For  our  child's  canopy  ? 

Adah.  Because  its  branches 

Shut  out  the  sun  like  night,  and  therefore  seem'd 
Tilting  to  shadow  slumber. 

Cain.  Ay,  the  last  — 

And  longest;  but  no  matter  —  lead  me  to  him. 

They  go  uji  to  the  child. 
How  lovely  he  appears  !   his  little  cheeks, 
In  their  p-irc  incarnation,  vying  with 
The  rose  leaves  strewn  beneath  them. 

.7</«A.  And  his  lips,  too, 

How  beautifully  parted  !   No  ;  you  shall  not 
Kiss  him,  at  least  not  now  :  he  will  awake  soon-** 
His  hour  of  mid  day  rest  is  nearly  over  : 
But  it  were  pity  to  disturb  him  till 
'Tis  closed. 

Cain.         You  have  said  well  ;  I  will  contain 
My  heart  till  then.     He  smiles,  and  sleeps!  —  Sleep  on 
And  smile,  thou  little,  young  inheritor 
Of  a  world  scarce  less  young:  sleep  on,  and  smile  ! 
Thine  are  the  hours  and  days  when  both  are  cheering 
And  innocent  \  thou  hast  not  pluck'd  the  fruit  — 


62 

Thou  knov'st  not  thou  art  naked  I  Must  the  time 
Come  thou  shall  be  amerced  for  sins  unknown, 
Which  were  not  thine  nor  mine  ?  But  now  sleep  on  1 
His  cheeks  are  reddening  into  deeper  smiles, 
And  shining  lids  are  trembling  o'er  his  Kng 
Lashes,  dark  as  the  cypress  which  waves  o'er  them  ; 
Half  open,  from  beneath  them  the  clear  blue 
Laughs  out,  although  in  slumber.     He  must  droam — 
Of  what  r   Of  Paradis.  dream  of  it, 

j\Iy  disinh*  :  .'.t-d  boy  !   'Tis  but  a  dream  . 
Tor  never  more  thyself,  thy  sons,  nor  fathers, 
Shall  walk  in  that  forbidden  place  of  joy. 

Adah.  Dear  Cain  1   Nay,  do  not  whisper  o'er  our  son 
Such  melancholy  yearnings  o'er  the  past: 
Why  \\ilt  thou  always  mourn  for  Paradise  ? 
Can  we  not  make  another  ? 

Cain.  Where  : 

\ih.  Here,  or 

Where'er  thou  wilt :  where'er  thou  art,  I  feel  not 
The  want  of  this  so  much  regretted  Eden. 
1  lave  I  not  thee,  our  boy,  our  sire,  and  brother, 
And  /illah— our  -  ,;nd  our  1. 

To  whom  Id  much  besides  our  birth  ? 

-  leath,  too,  is  amongst  the  debts  we  owe  her. 

Adah.  C;iin  !  that  proud  spirit,  who  withdrew  tnee  lu 
Hath  sadden'd  thine  still  deeper.     I  had  hoped 
The  promised  wonders  which  thou  hast  beheld, 
Visions,  thou  say'st,  of  past  and  present  worlds, 
Would  have  composed  thy  mind  into  the  calm 
Of  a  contented  knowledge  ;  but  I  see 
Thy  guide  hath  done  thee  evil  .  still  I  thank  him. 
And  can  forgive  him  all,  that  he  so  soon 
Hath  given  thee  back  to  us. 

n.  So  soon  ? 

Adah.  'Tis  scarcely 

Two  hours  since  yc  departed :   two  lo?ig  hours 
To  wi£,  but  only  h^ur    upon  the  sun. 

•j.  And  yet  I  have  approach 'd  that  sun,  and  seen 
Worlds  which  he  once  shone  on,  and  never  more 
Shall  light;  and  worlds  he  never  lit:  methought 
Years  had  roll'd  o'er  my  absen* 

Adah.  Hardly  hours. 

Cain.  The  mind  then  hath  capacity  of  time, 
And  measures  it  by  that  which  it  beholds, 
Pleasing  or  painful ;  little  or  almighty. 
I  had  beheld  the  immemorial  works 
Of  endless  beings  ;  skirr'd  extinguished  worlds  ; 
And,  gazing  on  eternity,  methought 


63 


I  had  borrow'd  more  by  a  few  drops  of  age  5 
From  its  immensity ;  but  now  I  feel 
My  littleness  again.     Well  said  the  spirit, 
That  I  was  nothing  ! 


Collins'  Ode  on  the  Passions. 

WHFAT  Music,  heav'nly  maid,  was  young, 
\Vh-le  yet  in  early  fireee  she  sung, 
The  Passions,  oft  to  hear  her  shell, 
Throng  d  around  her  magic  cell, 
Exalting,  trembling,  raging,  fainting*, 
Possest,  beyond  the  Muses'  painting. 
By  turns  they  felt  the  glowing  mind 
Disturb'd,  delighted,  rais'd,  relin'd. 
'Till  once,  tis  said,  when  all  were  iir'd, 
Filld  with  fury,  rapt,  inspir'd, 
From  the  sporting  myrtles  round 
They  snatch'd  her   nstruments  of  sound. 
And  as  they  oft  had  heard  apart, 
Sweet  lessons  of  her  forceful  art, 
h,  for  madness  rul'd  the  hour, 
Would  prov     his  own  expressive  po\\er; 

r,  its  hand  his  skill  to  try, 
Amid  the  chords  bcwilder'd  laid, 
And  back  recoil'd,  he  knew  not  why, 

at  the  sound  himself  had  m. 
Next  Anger  rush'd,  his  eyes  on  fire, 
In  lightning  own *d  his  secret  stings, 
In  one  rude  clash  he  struck  the  lyre, 
And  swept  with  hurry'd  hand  the  stf: 
With  woful  measures  wan  Depair 
Low,  sullen  sounds  his  grief  beguil'd 
A  solemn,  stranee,  and  mi  gled  air, 
'Twas  sad  by  fits,  by  starts  'twas  wild, 
But  thou,  O  Hope,  with  eyes  so  fair, 
What  was  thy  delighted  measure  ? 
Still  it  whisper'd  promis'd  pleasure, 
And  bade  the  lovely  scenes  at  distance  hail  1 
Still  would  her  touch  the  scene  prolong, 
And  from  the  rocks,  the  woods,  the  vale, 
She  calFcl  on  echo  still,  through  all  the  song; 
And  where  her  sweetest  theme  she  chose, 
A  soft  responsive  voice,  was  heard  at  every  close, 
And  Hope  enchanted,  smil'd,  and  wav'd  her  golden  huiV. 
And  longer  had  she  sung,  but  with  a  frown, 
Revenge  impatient  rose ; 


64 


He  threw  his  blood  stahi'd  sword  in  thunder  down. 

And  with  a  withering  look, 

The  war,  denouncing  trumpet  took, 

And  blew  a  blast  so  loud  and  dread, 

\\\re  ne'er  prophetic  sounds  so  full  of  wo; 

And  ever  and  anon  he  beat 

The  doubling  drum  with  furious  heat; 

And  though,  sometimes  each  dreary  pause  between. 

Dejected  Pity  at  his  side 

Her  soul  subduing  voice  applied, 

Vet  still  he  kept  his  wild,    nalter'd  mein, 

\VhiIe  each  strain'd  ball  of  sight  seem'd  bursting  from 

head. 

Thy  numbers,  Jealousy,  to  nought  were  fix'd, 
Sad  proof  of  thy  distressful  state, 

tiering  themes  the  veering  song  was  mix'd, 
now  it  courted  love,  now  raving  caJ'd  on  h»v 
With  eyes  uprais'd,  as  one  inspired, 
Pale  Melancholy  -at  retired, 
And  from  her  wild,  scquester'd  scat, 
In  notes  more  distant  made  more  sweet, 
Pou  'd  through  the  mellow  horn  her  pensive  soul ; 
And  dashing  soft  from  rocks  around. 
Bubbling  runnels  join'd  the  sound  ; 
Through  glades  and  glooms  the  mingled  measure  sto 
Or  o\  ..turned  streams  with  fond  delay, 

Bound  a  holy  calm  diffusing, 
Lo\  and  lonely  musing, 

In  hollow  murmurs  died  av> 
But  ()   how    her  d  was  its  sprighttier  tone; 

nymph  of  healthiest  hue. 
HIT  bow  across  her  shoulders  fli 

:<t-m  d  with  morning  c< 

Blew  an  inspiring  air,  that  dale  and  thicket  rung 
hunter's  call  to  fawn  and  dryad  known  ; 
oak-crown  d  -  il  their  chaste-ey'd  quc 

:.d  sylvan  boys  were  seen, 
Peeping  forth  fiom 
Brown  Exerci^ 
And  sport  leapt  up,  and  seiz'd  the  beachen  spear 

Last  came,  Joy's  ecstatic  trial, 
He,  with  vmy  crown  advancing, 

•  to  the  lively  pipe  his  hand  address'd, 
But  soon  he  saw  the  brisk  awaking  viol, 
Whose  sweet  advancing  voice  he  lov'd  the  bi 

They  would  have  who  heard  the  strain 
They  saw  in  Tempo's  v;.ie  her  native  maids 
\rnid  the  festal  sounding  shades 


65 


To  some  unwearied  minstrel  dancing, 
While  as  his  flying  fingers  kiss'd  the  strings, 
Love  fram'd  with  mirth,  a  gay  fantastic  round, 
Loose  were  her  tresses  seen,  her  zone  unbound, 
And  he  amid  his  frolic  play, 
As  if  he  would  the  charming  air  repay, 
Shook  thousand  odours  from  his  dewy  wings. 


On  Cruelty  to  Animals. — a  Tale. — BY  COWPKR 

Where  England  stretch'd  towards  the  setting  sun, 
Narrow  and  long,  o'erlooks  the  western  wave, 
Dwelt  young  Misagathus.     A  scorner  he, 
Of  God  and  goodness,  atheist  in  ostent, 
Vicious  in  act,  in  temper  savage-fierce. 
He  journey'd,  and  his  chance  was,  as  he  went, 
To  join  a  trav'ller  of  far  different  note, 
Evander,  fam'd  for  piety,  for  years 
Deserving  honour,  but  for  wisdom  more. 
Fame  had  not  left  the  venerable  man, 
A  stranger  to  the  manners  of  the  youth, 
Whose  face  too  was  familiar  to  his  view. 
Their  way  was  on  the  margin  of  the  land, 
O'er  the  green  summit  of  the  rocks,  whose  base 
Beats  back  the  roaring  surge,  scarce  heard  so  high. 
The  charity  that  wann'd  his  heart  was  mov'd 
At  sight  of  the  man-monster.     With  a  smile, 
Gentle,  and  affable,  and  full  of  grace, 
As  fearful  of  offending  whom  he  wish'd 
Much  to  persuade,  he  ply'd  his  ear  with  truths. 
Not  harshly  thunder'd  forth,  or  rudely  press'd, 
But  like  his  purpose,  gracious,  kind,  and  sweet. 
And  dost  thou  dream,  the  impenetrable  man 
Exclaim'd,  that  me,  the  lullabies  of  age, 
And  fantasies  of  dotards,  such  as  thou, 
Can  cheat,  or  move  a  moment's  fear  in  me  ? 
Mark  now  the  proof  I  give  thee  that  the  brave 
Need  no  such  aids  as  superstition  lends, 
To  steel  their  hearts  against  the  dread  of  death. 
He  spoke,  and  to  the  precipice  at  hand, 
Push'd  with  a  madman's  fury.     Fancy  shrinks, 
And  the  blood  thrills  and  curdles  at  the  thought 
Of  such  a  gulph,  as  he  design'd  his  grave. 
But  though  the  felon  on  his  back  could  dare 
The  dreadful  leap,  more  rational   his  steed 
Declin'd  the  death,  and  wheeling  swiftly  round* 

9 


66 

Or  ere  his  hoof  had  prcss'd  the  crumbling  verge. 

Baffled  his  rider,  sav'd  against  his  will. 

The  frenzy  of  the  brain  may  be  redress'd, 

By  med'cine  well  applied,  but  without  grace, 

The  heart's  insanity  admits  no  cure 

Enrag'd  the  more,  by  what  might  have  reformM 

His  horrible  intent ;  again,  he  sought 

Destruction,  with  zeal  to  be  destroy'd, 

With  sounding  whip,  and  rowels  dy'd  in  blood. 

But  still  in  vain.     The  providence  that  meant 

A  longer  date  to  the  far  nobler  beast, 

Spar'd  yet  again  th*  ignobler  for  his  sake. 

And  now,  his  prowess  prov'd,  and  his  sincere 

Incurable  obduracy  evinc'd, 

His  rage  grew  cool ;  and  pleas'd,  perhaps,  t'  have  earnM 

•eaply,  the  renown  of  that  attempt, 
With  looks,  of  some  complacence,  he  resum'd 
His  road,  deriding  much  the  blank  amaze 
Of  good  Evander,  still  where  he  was  left, 

notionless,  and  petrified  with  dread. 
So  on  they  farM  ;  discourse  on  other  themes 
Ensuing,  seem'd  to  obliterate  the  past, 
And  tamer  far  for  so  much  fury  shown, 
(As  is  the  course  of  rash  and  fiery  men) 
The  rude  companion  smiPd,  as  if  transform'd. 
But  'twas  a  transient  calm.     A  storm  was  near, 
An  unsuspected  storm.     His  hour  was  come. 
The  impious  challenger  of  pow'r  divine 
Was  now  to  learn,  that  heaven,  though  slow  to  wrath, 
Is  never  with  impunity  defy'd. 
His  horse,  as  he  had  caught  his  master's  mood, 
Snorting,  and  starting  into  sudden  rage, 
Unbidden,  and  not  now  to  be  control'd, 
Rush'd  to  the  cliff,  and  having  reach'd  it,  stood. 
At  once  the  shock  unseated  him.     He  flew 
Sheer  o'er  the  craggy  barrier,  and  immers'd 
Deep  in  the  flood,  found,  when  he  sought  it  not, 
The  death  he  had  deserv'd,  and  dy'd  alone. 
So  God  wrought  double  justice     made  the  fool 
The  victim  of  his  own  tremendous  choice, 
And  taught  a  brute  the  way  to  safe  revenge. 


Address  to  Messiah. — BY  co\vp£ii. 

Come  then,  and  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 
Recieve  yet  one,  the  crown  of  all  the  earth. 


67 

Thou  who  alone  art  worthy  !  it  was  thine 

By  ancient  cov'nant,  ere  nature's  birth, 

And  thou  hast  made  it  thine  by  purchase  since, 

And  overpaid  its  value  with  thy  blood. 

Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  King  ;  and  in  their  hearts, 

Thy  title  is  engraven  with  a  pen 

Dipt  in  the  fountain  of  eternal  love. 

Thy  saints  proclaim  thee  King;  and  thy  delay 

Gives  courage  to  their  foes,  who,  could  they  see 

The  dawn  of  thy  last  advent  long  desir'd, 

Would  creep  into  the  bowels  of  the  hills, 

And  flee  for  safety  to  the  falling  rofcks. 

The  very  spirit  of  the  world  is  tir'd 

Of  its  own  taunting  question  ask'd  so  long, 

"  Where  is  the  promise  of  your  Lord's  approach?" 

The  infidel  has  shot  his  bolts  away, 

Till  his  exhausted  quiver  yielding  none, 

lie  gleans  the  blunted  shafts  that  have  recoil'd, 

And  aims  them  at  the  shield  of  truth  again. 

The  veil  is  rent,  rent  too  by  priestly  hands, 

That  hides  divinity  from  mortal  eyes, 

And  all  the  mysteries  to  faith  proposed 

Insulted  and  traduc'd,  are  cast  aside 

As  useless,  to  the  moles,  and  to  the  bats. 

They  now  are  deem'd  the  faithful,  and  are  praisM, 

Who  constant  only  in  rejectng  thee, 

Deny  thy  Godhead  with  a  martyr's  zeal, 

And  quit  their  office  for  their  error's  sake. 

Blind,  and  in  love  with  darkness  !  yet  even  these. 

Worthy,  compar'd  with  sycophants,  who  kneel, 

Thy  name  adoring,  and  then  preach  thee  man. 

So  fares  thy  church.     But  how  thy  church  may  fare, 

The  world  takes  little  thought ;  who  will  may  preach^ 

And  what  they  will.     All  pastors  are  alike 

To  wand'ring  sheep,  resolv'd  to  follow  none. 

Two  gods  divide  them  all,  Pleasure  and  Gain. 

For  these  they  live,  they  sacrifice  to  these, 

And  in  their  service  wage  perpetual  war 

With  conscience,  and  with  thee.     Lust  in  their  hearts, 

And  mischief  in  their  hands,  they  roam  the  earth 

To  prey  upon  each  other  ;  stubborn,  fierce, 

High  minded,  foaming  out  their  own  disgrace. 

Thy  prophets  speak  of  such  ;  and  noting  down 

The  features  of  the  last  degenerate  times, 

Exhibit  ev'ry  lineament  of  these. 

Come  then,  and  added  to  thy  many  crowns, 

Receive  yet  one,  as  radient  as  the  rest, 

Due  to  thy  last,  and  most  effectual  worki 

Thy  word  fulfill'd,  the  conquest  of  a  world. 


6i 

On  the  Power  and  Influence  of  an  Individual. 

BY  PRESIDENT  NOTT. 

Thus  the  impulse  given  either  to  virtue  or  to  vice,  by  a  single  individual, 
way  b->  immeasurably  extended,  even  to  distant  nations,  and  communica- 
ted 'hroug'i  succeeding-  ages  to  the  remotest  generations. 

*  md  their  infidel  coadjutors,  collected  their  materials 

and  Kid  a  train  which  produced  that  fatal  explosion,  uhich  shook  the  civi- 
lizeil  world  to  its  centre.  Governments  were  dismembered;  monarchies 
were  overthrown;  institutions  were  swept  away;  society  was  flung  into 
co;, fusion;  human  life  was  endangered.  Years  have  elapsed,  the  face  of 
Europe  is  yet  covered  with  wrecks  and  desolations!  and  how  long  L  -t-.re 
the  world  will  recover  from  the  disastrous  shock  their  conspiracy  occa- 
sioned, God  only  knows.  And  yet  Vo'taire,  Rosseau  and  their  infidel  co- 
re individuals. 

Did  not  Cyrus  sway  the  opinions,  awe  the  fears,  and  direct  the  energies 
of  the  world  at  Babylon?  Did  not  Caesar  do  this  a\  Home,  and  Cons':\n- 
tine  at  Byzantium?  and  yet  C)rus,  Caesar  and  Constantine,  were  individu- 
als— Uut  they  w»  re  fortunate  ;  they  lived  at  critical  conjunctures,  and  in 
fit-Id*  of  blood  gathered  immortally.  And  is  it  at  critical  conjunctures  and 
in  fiVids  of  Hood  only,  that  immortally  can  be  gathered  ? 

\N   ,ere  '.h-n  is  Howard,  that  saint  of  illustrious  memory,  who  traversed 
\ploring  the  jail  and  the  prison-ship  und  taking  the 

dimensions  of  that  misery  which  the«*e  caverns  of  vic< ,  of  disease  and  of 
dea.h  had  nceiled — Whose  heroic  deeds  of  c!  dun- 

geoi'S  alike  of  Europe  and  of  Asia  witnessed,  and  whose  bones  now  conse- 
cra  e  the  confines  of  distant  Canary,  where  he  fell  a  martyr  r 
when  like  an  angel  if  peace,  he  was  engaged  in  conveying  through  the 
cold,  damp,  pestilential  cells  of  Russian  Crimea,  the  lamp  ot  hope  and  the 
cup  of  consolation  to  the  incarcerated  slave,  who  languished  unknown, 
unpitied,  and  forgotten  there. 

Where  is  Grf  nnlle  Sharp,  the  negro's  advocate,  whose  disinterested  ef- 
forts, whose  seraphic  eloquence,  extorted  from  a  court  tinctured  with  the 
remains  of  feudal  tyranny,  that  memorable  decision  of  lord  Mansfield, 
•which  placed  an  eternal  shield  between  the  oppressor,  and  the  » 
iv  h  ch  raised  a  legal  barrier  around  the  vr;  of  the  ensiaved  Afri- 

can, and  rendered  liberty  thereafter,  inseparable  from  the  soil  of  the  sea- 
girt  isles  ot  Britain  It  was  this  splendid  triumph  of  reason  over  passion, 
of  justice  over  prejudice,  that  railed  from  the  Irish  orator,  that  bur.-,t.  of 
ingenuous  feeling,  at  the  trial  of  Rowan,  when  he  said — "  1  speak  in  the 
spirit  of  the  British  law.  which  proclaims  even  to  the  stranger  and  the  so- 
journer,  the  moment  he  sets  his  foot  on  British  earth,  tiiat  the  ground  on 
which  he  treads  is  holy.  No  matter  in  what  language,  his  doom  may 
have  been  pronounced; — No  matter  what  complexion  incompatible  with 
freedom;  an  Indian,  or  an  African  sun  may  have  burnt  upon  him;— N'o 
ma.ter  in  what  disastrous  battle  his  liberty  may  have  been  cloven  down  : 
—No  matter  with  what  solemnities  he  may  have  been  devoted  upon  the 
altar  of  slavery ;  the  first  moment  he  touches  the  sacred  soi-  of  Britain, 
the  altar,  and  the  God  sink  'ogetherin  the  dust;  his  soul  walks  abroad  in 
ber  own  majesty  ;  hib  body  swells  bt.yond  the  measure  of  his  chan.*,  that 
burst  from  around  him,  and  he  stands  redeemed,  emancipated,  dis-en- 
thralled.  by  irresistable  genius  of  universal  emancipation." 

Where  if  Clarksou,  who  has  been  so  triumphantly  successful  in  wiping 
away  the  reproach  of  slavery  from  one  quarter  of  the  globe,  and  in  restor- 


69 

!ng  to  the  rights  or"  fraternity  more  than  twenty  millions  of  the  human 
family — thai  man,  who  after  so  many  years  of  reproach  and  contumely; 
after  suffering's  and  purseve-  ance  which  astonish  as  much  as  they  inst'-uct 
us,  succeeded  in  turning1  ih*-  curren  of  national  feeling ;  in  awake-ting 
the  sense  ot  national  justice,  and  finally  in  obtaining,  from  the  parliament 
of  England,  thai  glorious  act,  the  abolition  of  the  slave  trade — An  act  to 
which  ihe  royal  signature  was  affixed  at  noon  day,  and  just  as  the  sun 
reached  the  meridian:  a  time  fitly  chosen  for  the  consummation  of  so 
splendid  a  transaction — a  transaction  which  reflects  more  honor  on  the 
king,  the  parliament,  and  the  people,  than  any  other  recorded  in  the  annals 
of  history.  Where  is  this  man,  whose  fame  I  had  rather  inherit  than  that  of 
C<"es;ir — f<*r  it  will  ht  more  deathless  as  it  is  already  more  sacred.  And 
should  Africa  ever  arise  from  its  present  degradation,  and  rise  it  will,  if 
there  he  any  truth  in  God,  what  a  perpetual  flow  of  heartfelt  eulogy  will, 
to  a  thousand  generations,  commemorate  the  virtues,  the  sufferings  and 
the  triumph  of  the  ingenuous,  the  disinterested,  the  endeared,  the  immor- 
tal Clarkson— the  Negro's  friend—the  black  man's  hope— the  despised 
African's  benefactor  ! 

Where  is  Lancster,  who  has  introduced,  and  is  introducing  a  new  era 
in  the  history  of  letters,  and  rendering  the  houses  of  education,  like  the 
temples  of  grace,  accessible  to  the  poor  ?  Owing  to  whose  exertions  and 
enterprizes  thousands  of  children,  picked  from  the  dirt  and  collected 
from  the  streets,  are  this  day  enjoying  the  inestimable  benefits  of  educa- 
tion, and  forming  regular  habits  of  industry  and  virtue,  who  must  other- 
wise have  been  doomed  by  the  penury  of  their  condition  to  perpetual  ig- 
norance, and  probably  to  perpetual  misery. 

Ah !  hud  this  man  lived  but  two  thousand  years  ago,  to  say  nothing  of 
the  eflect  which  might  have  been  produced  on  morals  and  happiness  ge- 
nerally, by  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge,  and  the  regular  formation 
of  habits— to  say  nothing  of  that  vulgarity  which  would  have  been  dimin- 
ished, nor  of  that  dignity  which  might  have  been  imparted  to  the  charac- 
ter of  the  species — Could  this  man  have  lived  two  thousand  years  ago,  and 
all  the  rude  materials  in  society  have  undergone  only  that  slight  polishing 
which,  under  his  fostering  care,  they  are  now  likely  to  undergo,  how  many 
mines  of  beauty  and  richness  would  have  appeared !  How  many  gems 
made  visible  by  their  glittering,  would  have  been  collected  from  among 
the  rubbish  !  Or,  to  speak  without  a  figure,  had  this  rrflm  lived  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  how  much  talent  might  have  been  discovered  for  the 
church,  for  the  state,  for  the  world,  among  those  untutored  millions  who 
have  floated  unknown  and  unnoticed  down  the  tide  of  time.  Had  this  man 
lived  two  thousand  years  ago,  how  many  Demosthenes  might  have  light- 
ened and  thundered  ?  How  many  Homers  soared  and  sung  ?  How  many 
New  tons  roused  into  action,  to  clevelope  the  laws  of  matter?  How  many 
Lockes  to  explore  the  regions  of  mind?  How  many  Mansfields  to  exalt 
the  Iv.-nch  ?  How  many  Erskines  to  adorn  the  bar  ?  And  perhaps  some 
oilier  Washington,  whose  memory  has  now  perished  in  obscurity,  might 
have  been  forced  from  the  factory  or  the  plow  to  decide  the  fate  of  battle, 
and  sustain  the  weight  of  empire. 

And  yet  Howard,  Sharpe,  Clarkson  and  Lancaster,  were  individuals  ;  and 
individuals  too,  gifted  by  no  extraordinary  talents;  favoured  by  no  pecu- 
liar theatre  of  action.  They  were  only  common  men  brought  up  in  the 
midst  of  common  life.  No  princely  fortunes  had  descended  to  them  ;  no 
paternal  influence  had  devolved  on  them ;  no  aspiring  rivals  provoked 
their  emulation  ;  no  great  emergencies  roused  their  exertions.  They  pro- 
duced, if  1  may  so  speak,  the  incidents  which  adorn  their  history,  and  cre- 
ated for  themselves  a  theatre  of  action.  Animated  by  the  purest  virtue, 
and  bent  on  being  useful,  they  seized  on  the  miseries  of  life,  as  the  world 


70 

presented  them;  and  by  deeds  of  charity  and  valour  performed  in  reliev- 
ing1 those  miseries,  they  converted  the  very  abodes  of  ignorance  and  wo  in- 
to a  theatre  of  glory. 

And,  young  gentlemen,  after  all  that  has  been  done  by  these  patrons  of 
virtue,  these  benefactors  of  mankind,  remains  there  no  prejudice  to  cor- 
rect ;  no  ignorance  to  instruct ;  no  vice  to  reclaim ;  no  misery  to  alleviate  I 
Look" around  you — still  there  is  room  for  youthful  enterprise,  for  manly 
exertion.  Go,  then,  into  the  world  ;  cherish  the  spirit,  imitate  the  exam- 
ple, and  emulate  the  glory  of  these  illustrious  worthies.  Let  no  disasters 
shake  your  fortitude;  let  no  impediments  interrupt  your  career.  Come 
what  will,  of  this  be  assured,  that  in  every  enterprise  of  good,  God  will 
be  on  your  side;  and  that  should  you  even  fail,  failure  will  be  glorious — 
Nor  will  it  ever  be  said  in  heaven  of  the  man  who  has  sincerely  laboured 
on  the  earth  to  glorify  his  God,  or  benefit  his  country,  that  he  has  lived  in. 


On  Card  Playing — BY  PRESIDENT  NOTT. 


Games  of  hazard,  particularly  where  cards  are  concerned,  tend  imper- 
ceptibly to  gambling. 

,  at  first,  is  resorted  to  as  a  pastime,  and  the  gamester  becomes  an 
idler  only.  This  is  the  inceptive  step.  But  mere  play  has  not  enough  of 
interest  in  it,  to  excite  a  continued  attention,  even  in  the  most  frivolous 
of  minds.  To  supply  this  defect,  the  passion  of  avarice  is  addressed  by 
the  intervention  of  a  trifling  stake.  This  is  the  second  step.  The  third 
is  deep  and  presumptuous  gambling;  here,  all  the  adventurer  can  com- 
mand, I*  hazarded,  aml^-aj'n  not  amusement,  becomes  the  powerful  motive 
that  inspires  htm.  These  are  the  stages  of  play  at  cards,  that  delusive 
und  treacherous  science,  which  has  beggared  so  many  families,  made  so 
many  a  youth,  a  profligate ;  and  blasted  forever,  so  many  a  parent's  hope  ! 

But  is  a  stake,  at  play,  wrong  in  principle?  It  is  so.  Nor  is  the  nature 
«>f  the  transaction  changed  by  any  increase,  or  diminution  of  amount.  Not 
that  it  is  a  crime  to  hazard,  but  to  hazard  wrongfully;  to  hazard,  where  no 
law  authorizes  it ;  where  neither  individual  prudence,  nor  any  principle  of 
public  policy  requires  it.  Property  is  a  trust,  and  the  holder  is  responsi- 
ble for  its  use.  He  may  employ  it  in  trade;  he  may  give  it  in  charity.  But 
he  may  not  wantonly  squander  it  away ;  he  may  not  even  lightly  hazard  the 
loss  of  it  for  no  useful  purpose,  and  where  there  is  no  probability,  that  the 
transaction  will,  on  the  whole  be  beneficial,  either  to  the  parties,  or  to  the 
community. 

But  I  may  not  pass  thus  lightly  over  this  article.  The  nature  of  gam- 
bling  considered  as  an  occupation,  and  the  relative  situation  of  gamblers 
ought  to  be  attended  to.  The  issue  which  the  parties  join;  the  rivalship 
in  which  they  engage,  neither  directly  nor  indirectly,  promotes  any  inter- 
est of  community.  It  has  no  relation  to  agriculture,  none  to  commerce, 
none  to  manufactures.  It  furnishes  no  bread  to  the  poor;  it  holds  out  no 
motive  to  industry;  it  applies  no  stimulus  to  enterprise.  It  is  an  employ- 
ment, mi  generit.  The  talent  it  occupies  is  so  much  deducted  from  that 
intelligence,  which  superintends  the  concerns  of  the  world.  The  capital 
it  employs,  is  so  much  withdrawn  from  from  the  stock  required  for  the  com- 
merce of  the  world.  Let  the  stake  be  gained  or  lost,  as  it  will,  society 


71 

j^ains  nothing.  The  managers  of  this  ill-appropriated  fund  are  not  identifi- 
ed in  their  pursuits,  with  any  of  those  classes,  whose  ingenuity,  or  whose 
labours  benefit  society ;  nor  by  any  of  the  rapid  changes,  through  which 
their  treasure  passes,  is  there  any  thing  produced  by  which  community  is 
indemnified. 

Their  situation  with  respect  to  each  other,  is  as  singular,  ond  unnatural 
as  is  their  situation  with  respect  to  the  rest  of  mankind.  Here  again  the 
order  of  nature  is  reversed ;  the  constitution  of  God  is  subverted  ;  and  an 
association  is  formed,  not  for  mutual  benefit,  but  for  acknowledged  and 
mutual  injury.  Precisely  so  much  as  the  one  gains,  precisely  so  much  the 
other  loses.  No  equivalent  is  given;  none  is  received  The  property  in- 
deed changes  hands ;  but  its  quality  is  not  improved ;  its  amount  is  not 
augmented 

In  the  mean  time,  the  one  who  loses,  is  a  profligate,  who  throws  away, 
without  any  requital,  the  property  he  possesses  The  one  who  gains  is  a 
ruffian,  who  pounces,  like  a  vulture,  on  the  property  which  he  possesses 
not,  and  has  acquired  no  right  to  possess  ;  and  both  are  useless  members 
of  society,  a  mere  excrescence  on  the  body  politic.  Worse  than  this: 
they  are  a  nuisance  ;  like  leeches  on  the  back  of  some  mighty,  and  health- 
ful animal,  which  though  they  suck  their  aliment  from  its  blood,  contri- 
bute nothing  to  its  subsistence. — No  matter  how  numerous  these  vaga- 
bonds, for  1  will  not  call  them  by  a  more  reputable  name,  may  be  in  any 
community;  no  matter  how  long  they  may  live,  or  how  assiduously  they 
may  prosecute  their  vocation.  No  monument  of  good,  the  product  of  that 
vocation  will  remain  behind  them.  They  will  be  remembertd  only  by  the 
waste  they  have  committed,  or  the  injury  they  have  done,  while  with 
respect  to  all  the  useful  purposes  of  being,  it  will  be  as  if  they  had  never 
been. 

And  is  there  no  guilt  in  such  an  application  of  property  as  this!  Did 
Almighty  God  place  mankind  here  for  an  occupation  so  mean!  Did  he 
bestow  on  them  treasures  for  an  end  so  ignoble ! — If  Jesus  Christ  con- 
demned to  utter  darkness  that  unprofitable  servant,  who  having  wrapped 
his  talent  in  a  napkin  only,  buried  it  in  the  earth  :  what  think  you  will  be 
his  sentence  on  the  profligate,  who,  having  staked  and  lost  his  all,  goes 
from  the  gaming  table,  a  self  created  pauper,  to  the  judgment  seal!  Nor 
will  the  Judge  less  scrupulously  require  an  account  of  the  cents  you  bave 
amusively  put  down  at  piquet,  than  he  would,  though  you  had  played 
away  at  brag  the  entire  amount  of  the  shekel  of  the  sanctuary. 

But  you  do  not  mean  to  gamble,  nor  to  advovcate  it  I  know  it.  But  I 
also  know  if  you  play  at  all,  you  will  ultimately  do  both  It  is  but  a  line 
that  separates  between  innocence  and  sin.  Whoever  fearlessly  approach- 
es this  line,  will  soon  have  crossed  it.  To  keep  at  a  distance,  therefore, 
is  the  part  of  wisdom.  No  man  ever  made  up  his  mind  to  consign  to  per- 
dition his  soul  at  once.  No  man  ever  entered  the  known  avenues,  which 
conduct  to  such  an  end,  with  a  firm  and  undaunted  step.  Tue  brink  of 
ruin  is  approached  with  caution,  and  by  imperceptible  degrees ;  and  the 
wretch  who  now  stands  fearlessly  scoffing  there,  but  yesterday  had 
shrunk  back  from  the  tottering  cliff,  with  trembling.  Do  you  wish  for 
illustration  ?  The  profligate's  unwritten  history  will  furnish  it.  How  in- 
offensive its  commencement,  how  sudden,  and  how  awful  its  catastrophe! 
Let  us  review  his  life.  He  commences  with  play;  but  it  is  only  for 
amusement.  Next  he  hazards  a  triflle  to  give  interest,  and  is  surprised 
when  he  finds  himself  a  gainer  by  the  hazard.  He  then  ventures,  not. 
without  misgivings,  on  a  deeper  stake.  That  stake,  he  loses.  The  loss 
and  the  guilt  oppress  him.  He  drinks,  to  revive  his  spirits.  His  spirits 
revived,  he  stakes  to  retrieve  his  fortune  .  Again  he  is  unsuccessful,  and 
again  his  spirits  flag,  and  again  the  inebriating  cup  reriyes  them.  Ere  IIK 


72 

i$  aware  of  it,  lie  has  become  a  drunkard  ;  he  has  become  a  bankrupt. 
Resource  fails  him.  His  for.  line  is  pone  ;  his  character  is  gone  ;  his  ten- 
derness of  conscience  is  gone. — God  has  withdrawn  his  spirit  front  him. 
The  demon  of  despair  takes  possession  of  his  bosom  :  reason  deserts  him. 
he  becomes  a  maniac  ;  the  pistol  or  ihe  poignard  close  ihe  scene,  and  with 
a  shriek  he  plunges,  unwept,  and  forgotten,  into  hell. 

But  ihere  are  other  lights  in  which  tins  subject  should  be  viewed.  The 
proper  aliment  of  the  body  is  ascertained  by  its  effects.  V.  ii  nu- 

tricious  is  selected  ;   whatever  is  poisonous,  avoided.     Let  H  man  of  com- 
mon prudence,  perceive  the  deleterious  efiecrs  of  any  fruit,  however  fair 
to  the  eye;  however  sweet  to  the  tasxe— K-t  him  pc-rceivt- 
the  haggard  countenances,  and  swollen  limbs  r>f  'hos  par- 

taking of  it,  and  though  he   may  not  be  able  to  discover  \\herem 
ciousness  consists,  he  admits  that  it  is  vicious,  and  shrinks  from  the 
cipation  of  a.  repast  in   which  some  secret  poison  luiks 
to  many  and  injurious  to  most  who  hitherto  have  «.a.»»rd  h.  <  ;uid 

not  the  same  circumspection  be  used  -;uctm  the  fthe 

mind?  It  should  undoubtedly.     But  ^  case 

than  the  one  we  have  supposed.      For  no>   .my  the  fact  but  the  r*a> 
it  is  obvious.     So  that  we  may  repeat  wh;u  has  been  already  said  of  games 
of  hazard,  that    they  impart  no  expansion  to  the  mind,  and  that 

their  influence  on  the  affections,  and  passiont,  and  heart  are  deleterious 

-n  I  affirm,   that  these  games  impart  no   expansion   or  rigour  to  the 
mind,  I  do  not  m  an  to  be  understood  tha  or  can  be   pe  formed 

entirely  without  intellection.  It  is  concedetJ,  that  the  silliest  game  re- 
quires some  understanding,  and  that  to  play  at  it,  is  above  the  capacity  of 
an  oyster,  perlups  of  an  ox  or  of  an  ape.  It  is  conceded  too,  that  games 
:ry  sort  require  some  study;  the  most  of  them  however,  require  but 
little  ;  and  after  a  few  first  efforts,  the  intellectual  condition  of  the  game- 
-.o  far  as  his  occupation  is  concerned,  is  but  one  degree  removed 
from  that  of  the  dray-horse,  buckled  to  his  harness,  and  treading 
from  day  to  day,  and  from  night  to  night,  the  same  dull  track,  as  lie  turns 
a  machine  which  some  mind  of  a  higher  order  has  invented.  So  very  hum- 
ble is  this  specie*  of  occupatic/'  .  limited  the  sphere  in  which  it 
allows  the.  mind  to  operate,  that  if  an  indi\ual  were  to  remain  through  the 
term  of  his  existence,  mute  and  motionless,  in  the  winter  state  of  th 
wegian  bear,  his  intellectual  carter  would  be  about  as  splendid,  and  his 
attainments  in  knowledge  about  as  great  as  they  would,  were  he  to 
commence  play  in  childhood,  and  continue  on  at  whist  or  loo  to 
eternity.  For  though  the  latter  state  of  being,  pre-supposes  some  exer- 
cise of  the  mental  faculties,  it  is  MO  little,  so  low,  and  so  uniform,  that  if 
the  result  be  not  literally  nothing,  it  approaches  nearer  to  it  than  the  re- 
sult of  any  other  state  of  being,  to  which  an  intelligent  creature  can  be 
doomed,  short  of  absolute  inanity,  and  death. 

How  unlike  in  its  effect,  must  be  this  unmeaning  shufHe  of  cards  ;  this 
eternal  gaze,  on  the  party  coloured  surface  of  a  few  small  pieces  of  paste- 
board, where  nothing  but  spades,  and  hearts,  and  diamonds,  and  clubs, 
over  and  over  again,  every  hour  of  the  day,  every  hour  of  the  night,  meet 
the  sleepless  eye  of  the  vacant  beholder — how  unlike  must  be  the  effect 
of  this  pitiful  employment,  continued  for  fifty  or  for  seventy  years,  to  that, 
which  would  have  been  produced  on  the  same  mind,  in  the  same  period, 
by  following  the  track  of  Xewton,  to  those  sublime  results,  whither  he 

has  led  the  way  in  the  regions  of  abstraction -By  communing  with  the 

soul  of  Bacon,  deducing  from  individual  facts,   the  universal  laws  of  the 
material  universe  ;  or   by  mounting  with  Herschell,  to  the  Aihencum  of 
the  firmament,   and  learning  direct  from  the  volume  of  the  stars,  the  sci 
^  nee  of  astronomy  > — How  unlike  to  that  which  would  have  been  produced 


73 

in  the  same  period,  by  ranging  with  Paley,  through  the  department  oi 
morals  ;  by  soaring  with  Harvey  on  the  wing  of  devotion,  or  even  by  tra- 
cing the  footsteps  of  Tooke,  amid  the  mazes  of  philology  ? 

Card-playing  has  not  even  the  merit  of  the  common  chit-chat  of  the  tea- 
table.  Here  there  is  some  scope  for  reason  ;  some  for  a  play  of  fancy;  some 
occasion  for  mental  effort;  some  tendency  to  habits  of  quick  association, 
in  attack,  in  repartee,  and  the  various  turns,  resorted  to  for  keeping  up, 
and  enlivening  conversation  Much  less  has  it  the  merit  of  higher  and  more 
rational  discourse,  of  music,  of  painting,  or  of  reading. 

Indeed,  if  an  occupation  were  demanded  for  the  express  purpose  of  pev. 
verting  the  human  intellect,  and  humbling,  and  degrading,  and  narrowing1, 
I  had  almost  said  annihilating,  the  soul  of  man,  one  more  effectual,  could 
not  be  devised,  than  the  one  the  gamester  has  already  devised  and  pre-oc- 
cupi^d.  And  the  father  and  mother  of  a  family,  who  instead  of  assembling 
their  children  in  the  reading-ronm,  or  conducting  them  to  the  altar,  seat 
them,  night  after  night,  beside  themselves  at  the  gaming  table,  do,  so  fav 
as  this  part  of  their  domestic  economy  is  concerned,  contribute  not  only  to 
quench  their  piety,  but  also  to  extinguish  their  intellect,  and  convert  them 
into  automatons,  living  mummies,  the  mere  mechanical  members  of  a  do- 
mestic gambling  machine,  which,  though  but  little  soul  is  necessary,  re- 
quires a  number  of  human  hands  to  work  it.  And  if  under  such  a  blight- 
ing culture,  they  do  not  degenerate  into  a  state  of  mechanical  exigence, 
and  gradually  losing  their  reason,  their  taste,  their  fancy,  become  incapa- 
ble of  conversation  ;  the  fortunate  parents  may  thank  the  school-hous",  the 
church,  the  library,  the  society  of  friends,  or  some  other  and  less  wretch- 
ed part  of  their  own  defective  system,  for  preventing1  the  consummation  of 
so  frightful  a  result. 

Such,  young  gentlemen,  are  the  morbid  and  sickly  effects  of  play  upon 
the  human  intellect.  Hut  intelligence  constitutes  no  inconsiderable  part 
of  the  glory  of  man;  a  glory,  which,  unless  eclipsed  by  crime,  incrc 
as  intelligence  increases.  Knowledge  is  desirable  with  reference  to 
world,  but  principally  so  with  reference  to  the  next ;  not  because  philoso- 
phy, or  language,  or  mathematics  will  certainly  be  pursued  in  heaven  ; 
but  because  the  pursuit  of  them  on  earth,  gradually  communicates  that 
quickness  of  perception,  that  acumen  which,  as  it  increases,  approximate* 
towards  the  sublime  and  sudden  intuition  of  celestial  intelligences,  and 
which  cannot  fail  to  render  more  splendid  the  commencement,  as  well  a<* 
more  splendid  the  progression  of  man's  interminable  career. 

But  while  gaming  leaves  the  mind  to  languish,  it  produces  its  full  ef 
feet  on  the  passion*,  and  on  the  heart.  Here  however  that  effect  is  delete- 
rious. None  of  the  sweet  and  amiable  sympathies,  are  at  the  card-table 
called  into  action.  No  throb  of  ingenuous  and  philanthropic  feeling,  is 
excited  by  this  detestable  expedient  for  killing  time,  as  it  is  called;  and 
it  is  rightly  so  called;  for  many  a  murdered  hour  will  witness  at  the  day 
of  judgment,  against  that  fashionable  idler,  who  divides  her  time  between 
her  toilet  and  the  card-table,  no  less  than  against  the  profligate,  hackney- 
ed in  the  ways  of  sin,  and  steeped  in  all  the  filth  and  debauchery  of  gam- 
bling. But  it'is  only  amidst  the  filth  and  debauchery  of  gambling,  that  the 
full  effects  of  card-playing  on  the  passions  and  on  the  heart  of  man  are 
seen. 

Here  that  mutual  amity,  that  elsewhere  subsists,  ceases;  paternal  affec- 
tion ceases ;  even  that  community  of  feeling  that  piracy  excites,  and  that 
binds  the  very  banditti  together  has  no  room  to  operate ;  for  at  this  inhos- 
pitable board,  every  man's  interest,  clashes  with  every  man's  interest,  and 
every  man's  hand  is  literally  against  every  man. 

The  love  of  mastery,  and  the  love  of  money,  are  the  purest  loves,  of 
which  the  gamester  is  susceptible.  And  even  the  love  of  mastery,  lose* 

1(1 


74 

all  its  nobleness,  and  degenerates  into  the  love  of  lucre,  which  ultimately 
predominates  and  becomes  the  ruling  passion. 

Avarice  is  always  base  ;  but  the  gamester's  avarice  is  doubly  so  It  is 
avarice  unmixed  with  any  ingredient  of  magnanimity,  or  mercy.  Avarice, 
that  wears  not  even  the  gu;se  of  public  spirit ;  that  claims  not  even  the 
meagre  praise  of  hoarding  up  its  own  hard  earnings.  On  the  contrary,  it 
is  an  avarice,  that  wholly  feeds  upon  the  losses,  and  only  delights  itself 
with  the  miseries  of  others.  Avarice,  that  eye*,  with  covetous  desire, 
whatever  is  not  individually  its  own  ;  that  crouches  'o  throw  its  fangs 
over  that  booty,  by  which  its  comrades  are  enriched.  Avarice,  that  stoops 
to  rob  a  traveller,  that  sponges  a  guest,  and  that  would  filch  the  very 
dust  from  the  pocket  of  a  friend. 

But,  though  avarice  predominates,  other  related  passions  are  called  into 
action.  The  bosom,  that  was  once  serene  and  tranquil,  becomes  habitu- 
ally perturbed.  Envy  rankles  ;  jealousy  corrodes  ;  ang-.r  rages,  and  hope 
and  fear  alternately  convulse  the  system.  The  mildest  disposition  grows 
morose ;  the  sweetest  temper  becomes  fierce  and  fiery,  and  all  the  once 
amiable  features  of  the  heart  assume  a  malignant  aspect'. —Features  of 
the  heart,  did  I  «ay  ?  Pardon  my  mistake.  The  finished  gambler  has  none. 
Though  his  intellect  may  not  be;  though  his  soul  may  not  be;  his  heart 
is  quite  annihilated. 

Thus  habitual  gambling,  consummates  what  habitual  play  commences. 
Sometimes  its  deadening  influence  prevails,  even  over  female  virtue, 
eclipsing  all  the  loveliness,  and  benumbing  all  the  sensibility  of  woman. 
In  every  circle,  where  cards,  form  the  bond  of  union,  frivolity  and  heart- 
lessncss,  become  alike  characteristic  of  the  mother  and  the  daughter; 
devotion  ceases ;  domestic  care  is  shaken  off,  and  the  dearest  friends, 
even  before  their  burial,  are  consigned  to  oblivion. 

This  is  not  exaggeration.  I  appeal  to  fact.  Madame  du  DefTand,  was 
certainly  not  among  the  least  accomplished,  or  the  least  interesting  fe- 
male*, who  received  and  imparted  that  exquisite  tone  of  feeling,  that  per- 
vaded the  most  fashionable  society  of  modern  Paris.  And  yet  it  is  record- 
ed of  her,  in  the  correspondence  of  the  Baron  I)e  (irimm,  whose  veracity 
will  not  be  questioned,  that  when  her  old  and  intimate  friend  and  admi- 
rer, M.  de  Ponte  de  Vesle,  died,  this  celebrated  lady  came  rather  late  to 
a  great  supper,  in  the  neighbourhood  ;  and  as  it  was  known,  that  she  made 
it  a  point  of  honour,  to  attend  him  the  catastrophe  was  generally  suspect- 
ed. She  mentioned  it  however,  herself,  immediately,  on  entering;  adding 
that  it  was  lucky  he  had  gone  off  so  early  in  the  evening,  as  she  might 
otherwise  have  been  prevented  from  appearing.  She  then  sat  down  to 
table,  and  made  a  very  hearty  and  merry  meal  of  it. 

Afterwards,  when  Mad.  de  Chatelet,  died,  Mad.  du  DefTand,  testified 
her  grief  for  the  most  intimate  of  all  her  female  acquaintance,  by  circula- 
ting over  Paris,  the  very  next  morning,  the  most  libellous  and  veoomous 
attack  on  her  person,  her  understanding,  and  her  morals. 

This  utter  heartlessness,  this  entire  extinction  of  native  feeling,  was 
not  peculiar  to  Mad.  du  DefFand ;  it  pervaded  that  accomplished,  and 
fashionable  circle,  in  which  she  moved.  Hence,  she  herself,  in  her  turn, 
experienced  the  same  kind  of  sympathy,  and  her  remembrance  was  con- 
signed  to  the  same  instantaneous  oblivion.  Daring  her  last  illness,  three 
of  her  dearest  friends  used  to  come  and  play  cards,  every  night,  by  the 
»ide  of  her  couch— and  as  she  chose  to  die  in  the  middle  of  a  very  inter- 
esting game,  they  quietly  played  it  out — and  settled  their  accounts  before 
leaving  the  apartment  * 

*  See  Quarterly  Review. 


75 

t  do  wot  say  lhat  such  are  the  uniform,  but  I  do  say,  that  such  are  the 
natural  and  legitimate  effects  of  gaming  on  the  female  character.  The 
love  of  plav  i/a  D<  m»n,  which  only  takes  possession,  as  it  kills  the  heart. 
But,  if  such  is  tbe  effect  of  gaming,  on  the  one  sex,  whut  must  be  its  ef- 
fect on  the  other?  Will  nature  long  survive  in  bosoms  invaded,  not  by 
gaming  only,  but  also  by  debauchery  and  drunkennness,  those  sister  Fu- 
ries, which  hell  has  let  loose,  to  cut  off  our  young  men  from  without,  and 
our  children  from  th<-  streets  ?  No,  it  will  not.  As  we  have  said,  the  fin- 
ished gambler  has  no  heart.  The  club  with  which  ho  herds,  would  meet, 
though  all  its  members  were  in  mourning.  They  would  meet,  though  the 
place  of  rendezvous  were  the  chamber  of  the  dying,  they  would  meetj 
though  it  were  an  apartment  in  the  charnel-house.  Not  even  the  death  of 
kindred  can  affect  the  gambler.  He  would  play  upon  his  brother's  coffin ; 
he  would  play  upon  his  father's  sepulchre. 

Yonder  ste  that  wretch,  prematurely  old  in  infirmity,  as  \vell  as  sin. 
He  is  the  father  of  a  family.  The  mother  of  his  children,  lovely  in  her 
tears,  strives,  by  the  tenderest  assiduities,  to  restore  his  health,  and  with 
it,  to  restore  his  temperence,  his  love  of  home,  and  the  long-lost  charms 
of  domestic  life.  She  pursues  him  by  her  kindness,  and  her  entreaties  to 
his  haunts  of  vice;  she  reminds  him  of  his  children;  she  tells  him  of  their 
virtues;  of  their  sorrows ;  of  their  wants;  and  she  adjures  him,  by  the 
love  of  them,  and  by  the  love  of  God,  to  repent,  and  to  return.  Vain  at- 
trmpt !  She  might  as  well  adjure  the  whirlwind  ;  she  might  as  well  en- 
treat the  tiger. 

The  bmte  has  no  feeling  left.  He  turns  upon  her  In  the  spirit  of  the 
demons  with  which  he  is  possessed.  He  curses  his  children  and  her  who 
bare  them,  and  as  he  prosecutes  his  game,  he  fills  the  intervals  with  im- 
precations on  himself;  with  imprecations  on  his  maker;  imprecations  bor- 
rowed  from  this  dialect  of  devils,  and  uttered  with  a  tone  that  befits  only 
the  organs  of  the  damned!  And  yet  in  this  monster  there  once  dwelt  the 
spirit  of  a  man.  He  had  talents,  he  had  honour,  he  had  even  faith.  He 
might  have  adorned  the  senate,  the  bar,  the  altar  But  alas !  his  was  a  faith 
that  saveth  not.  The  gaming  table  has  robbed  him  of  it,  and  of  all  things 
else  that  is  worth  possessing.  What  a  frightful  change  of  character!  What 
a  tremendous  wreck,  is  th«  soul  of  man  in  ruins ! 

Return  disconsolate  mother  to  thy  dwelling,  and  be  submissive ;  thou 
shall  become  a  widow,  and  thy  children  fatherless.  Further  effort  will 
be  useless — the  reformation  of  thy  partner  is  impossible.  God  has  forsa- 
ken him— nor  will  good  angels  weep,  or  watch  over  him  any  longer. 


76 


Mr.  Phillips'    Address  to  the  Kin-. 


SlRl, 

\\  hen  1  presume  to  address  you  on  the  subject  which  afflicts  and  agl. 
lates  the  country,  I  do  so  with  the  most  profound  sentiments  of  respect 
and  loyalty.  But  1  am  no  flatterer.  I  wish  \vell  to  your  illustrious  house, 
and  therefore  address  you  in  the  tone  of  simple  truth — the  interests  of 
the  King  and  Queen  are  identified,  and  her  majesty's  advocate  must  be 
your's.  The  degradation  of  any  branch  of  your  family,  must,  in  some  de- 
gree, compromise  the  dignity  of  all,  and  be  assured  there  is  as  much  dan- 
ger as  discredit  in  familiarizing  the  public  eye  to  such  a  spectacle.  I 
1:0  doubt  that  the  present  exhibition  is  not  your  royal  wish  ;  I  have 
no  doubt  it  is  the  work  of  wily  sycophants  and  slanderers,  who  have  per- 
suaded  you  of  what  they  know 'to  be  false,  in  the  base  hope  that  it  may 
turn  out  to  be  profitable.  With  the  view,  then,  of  warning  you  against 
interested  hypocrisy,  and  of  giving  to  your  heart  its  natural  humane  and 
noble  inclination,  I  invoke  your  attention  to  the  situation  of  your  persecu- 
ted consort  !  I  implore  of  you  to  consider  whether  it  would  not  be  for  the 
safety  of  the  state,  for  the  tranquillity  of  the  country,  for  the  honour  of 
your  house,  and  for  the  interests  alike  of  royalty  and  humanity,  that  an 
helpless  female  should  be  permitted  to  pass  in  peace  the  few  remaining 
years  which  unmerited  misery  has  spared  to  her. 

It  is  now,  Sire,  about  five  and  twenty  years  since  her  majesty  landed  on 
the  shores  of  England — a  princess  by  birth — a  queen  by  marriage — the  re- 
lative of  kings — and  the  daughter  and  the  sister  of  a  hero.     She  was  then 
joung— direct  from  the  indulgence  of  a  paternal  court — the  blessing  of  her 
aged  parents,  of  whom  she  was  the  hope  and  stay — and  happiness  shone 
brightly  o'er  her;  her  life  had  been  all  sunshine— time  for  her  had  only 
trod  on  flowers  ;  and  if  the  visions  which  endear,  and  decorate  and  hallow 
home,  were  vanished  for  ever,  still  did  she  resign  them  for  the  sacred 
name  of  wife,  and  sworn  affection  of  a  royal  husband,  and  the  allegiance 
of  a  glorious  and  gallant  people.   She  was  no  more  to  see  her  noble  father** 
hand  unhclm  the  warriors  brow  to  fondle  over  his  child— no  more  for  her 
a.  mother's  tongue  Delighted  as  it  taught,  that  ear  which  never  heard  a 
strain,  that  eye  which   never  opened  on  a  scene,  but  those  of  careless, 
crimeless,  cloudless  infancy,  was  now  about  to  change  its  dulcet  tones  and 
fairy  visions    for  the  accent   and   the  country  of  the  stranger.     But  she 
had  heard  the  character  of  Britons — she  knew  that  chivalry  and  courage 
co-existed — she  knew  that  where  the  brave  man  and  the  free  man  dwelt, 
the  very  name  of  -woman  bore  a  charmed   sway,  and  where  the  voice  of 
England  echoed  your  royal  pledge,  to  "  love  and  worship,  and  cleave  to 
her  alone,"  she  but  looked  upon  your  Sire's  example,  and  your  nation's 
annals,  and  was  satisfied. — Pause  and  contemplate  her  enviable  station  at 
the  hour  of  these  unhappy  nuptials !  The   created  world  could  scarcely 
exhibit  a  more  interesting  spectacle.    There  was  no  earthly  bliss  of  whick 
she  was  not  either  in  the  possession  or  the  expectancy.     Royal  alike  by 
birth  and  alliance — honoured  as  the  choice  of  England's  heir,  reputed  the 
most  accomplished  gentleman  in  Europe — her  reputation  spotless  as  the 
unfallen  snow— her  approach  heralded  by  a  people's  prayer,  and  her  foot- 
steps obliterated  by  an  obsequious  nobility— her  youth,  like  the  lovely  sea- 
son which  it  typified,  one  crowded  garland  of  rich  and  fragrant  blossoms, 
refreshing  every  eye  with  present  beauty,  and  filling  every  heart  with  pro- 
mised benefits !— No  wonder  that  she  feared  no  famine,  in  that  spring  tiile 


UNIVERSITY 


vjf  her  happiness— no  wonder  that  the  speech  was  rapture,  and  her  step 
was  buoyancy !  She  was  the  darling-  of  parent's  hearts ;  a  kingdom  was  her 
dower — her  very  glance,  like  the  sun  of  heaven,  diffused  light,  and  warmth, 
and  luxury  around  it — in  her  public  hour,  fortune  concentrated  all  its  rays 
upon  her,  and  when  she  shrunk  from  its  too  radient  noon,  it  was  within 
the  shelter  of  a  husband's  love,  which  God  and  nature,  and  duty  and  mo- 
rality, assured  her  unreluctant  faith  should  b-  eternal  Such  was  she  then, 
all  joy  and  hope,  and  generous  credulity,  the  credulity  that  springs  from 
honour  and  from  innocence.  And  who  could  blame  it  ?  You  had  a  world 
to  choose,  and  she  was  your  selection — your  ages  were  compatible — your 
births  were  equal — you  had  drawn  her  from  the  house  where  she  was 
honourable  and  happy — you  had  n  prodigal  allowance  showered  on  you 
by  the  people—  you  had  bowed  your  anointed  head  before  the  altar;  and 
sworn  by  its  majesty  to  cherish  and  protect  her,  and  this  you  did  in  the 
presence  of  that  moral  nation  from  whom  you  hold  the  crown,  and  in  the 
face  of  that  church  of  which  you  are  the  guardian.  The  ties  which  hound, 
you  were  of  no  ordinary  texture — you  stood  not  in  the  situation  of  some 
secluded  profligate,  whose  brutal  satiety  might  leave  its  vctim  to  a  death 
of  solitude,  where  no  eye  could  see,  nor  echo  trll  the  quiverings  of  her 
agony.  Your  elevation  was  too  luminous  and  too  lofty  to  be  overlooked, 
and  she,  who  confided  with  a  vestal's  faith  and  a  virgin's  purity  in  your 
honour  and  your  morals,  had  a  corroborative  pledge  in  that  publicity, 
which  could  not  leave  her  to  suffer  or  be  sinned  against  in  secret.  All  the 
calculations  of  her  reason,  all  evidence  of  her  experience,  combined  their 
confirmation.  Her  own  parental  home  was  purity  itself,  and  yours  might 
have  bound  republicans  to  royalty  ;  it  would  have  been  little  less  than 
treason  to  have  doubted  you  ;  and,  oh  !  she  was  right  to  brush  away  the 
painted  vermin  that  infest  a  court,  who  would  have  withered  up  her  youth- 
ful heart  with  the  wild  errors  of  your  ripe  minority  !  Oh,  she  was  right  to 
trust  the  honour  of  "  Fair  England's"  heir,  and  weigh  but  as  a  breath- 
blown  grain  of  dust,  a  thousand  follies  and  a  thousand  faults  balanced 
against  the  conscience  of  her  husband.  She  did  confide,  and  what  has 
been  the  consequence  ? 

History  must  record  it,  Sire,  when  the  brightest  gem  in  your  diadem 
shall  have  mouldered,  that  this  young,  confiding,  inexperienced  creature 
had  scarcely  heard  the  last  congratulatory  address  upon  her  marriage,  when 
she  was  exiled  from  her  husband's  bed,  banished  from  her  husband's  soci- 
ety, and  abandoned  to  the  pollution  of  every  slanderous  sycophant  who 
chose  to  crawl  over  the  ruin  ?  Merciful  God !  was  it  mete  to  leave  a  hu- 
man being  so  situated,  with  all  her  passions  excited  and  inflamed  to  the 
impulses  of  such  abandonment  ?  \A  as  it  meet  thus  to  subject  her  inexpe- 
rienced youth  to  the  scorpion  sting  of  exasperated  pride,  and  ..II  ita  inci- 
dental natural  temptations  ?  Was  it  right  to  fling  the  ^hadow  of  a  hus- 
band's frown  upon  the  then  unsullied  snow  of  her  reputation  ?  Up  to  the 
blight  of  that  all-withering  hour  no  human  tongue  dared  to  asperse  her 
character.  The  sun  of  patronage  was  not  then  strong  enough  to 
quicken  ioto  life  the  serpent  brood  of  slanderers  :  no  starveling  aliens,  no 
hungry  tribe  of  local  expectants,  then  hoped  to  fatten  upon  the  offals  of 
the  royal  reputation.  She  was  not  long  enough  in  widowhood,  to  give  the 
spy  and  the  perjurer  even  a  colour  for  their  inventions.  The  peculiari- 
ties of  the  foreigner,  the  weakness  of  the  female— the  natural  vivacity  of 
youthful  innocence,  could  not  then  be  tortured  into  "demonstrations 
strong;"  for  you, yourself, in  your  recorded  letter,  bad  left  her  purity  not 
only  unimpeached,  but  unsuspected.  That  invaluable  letter,  the  fiving 
document  of  your  separation,  gives  us  the  sole  reason  for  your  exile,  that 
your  -'inclinations,"  were  not  in  your  power  !  That,  Sire,  and  that  alone, 
n-as  the  terrific  reason  which  you  gave  your  consort  for  this  heart-rending- 


78 

Degradation.  Perhaps  they  were  not :  but  give  me  leave  to  ask,  a: 
the  obligations  of  rel'gion  independent  of  us  ?  Has  any  man  a  right:-  square 
the  solemnities  of  marriage  according  to  his  rude  caprices  ?  .->  m  1  your 
lowly  subject,  to  understand  that  [  may  kr.eel  before  the  throne  of  God, 
and  promise  conjugal  fidelity  till  death,  and  self-absolve  myself,  whatever" 
moment  it  suits  my  "inclination?"  Not  so  will  that  mitred  bench,  who  sec 
her  majesty  arraigned  before  them  read  to  you  this  ceremony.  They  will 
tell  you  it  is  the  most  solemn  ordinance  of  man--consecru'ed  by  the  ap- 
proving presence  of  our  Saviour—  acknowledged  by  the  whole  civilized 
community — the  source  of  life's  purest  pleasures,  and  of  death's  happiest 
consolations — the  rich  fountain  of  our  life  and  being,  whose  draught  not 
only  purifies  existence,  but  causes  man  to  live  in  his  posterity  ;-they  will  tell 
you  that  it  cannot  perish  by  "inclination,"  but  by  crime,  and  that  if  there  is 
any  difference  between  the  prince  and  the  peasant  who  invoke  its  obliga- 
tion, it  is  the  more  enlarged  duty  entailed  upon  him,  to  whom  tl 
y  has  vouchsafed  the  influence  of  an  example. 

Thus,  then,  \vithin  one  year  after  her  marriage,  was  she  flung  "like  a 
-.ome  weed,"  upon  the  world,  no  cause  assigned  except  your  loathing 
inclination !  It  mattered  nothing,  that  for  you  she  had  surrendered  all  her 
worldly  prospects — that  she  had  left  her  home,  her  parents  and  her  coun- 
try— that  she  had  confided  in  the  honour  of  a  prince,  and  the  heart  of  a 
man,  and  the  faith  of  a  Christian ;  she  had,  it  seems,  in  one  little  year, 
"  outlived  your  liking,'*  and  the  poor,  abandoned,  branded,  heart-rent 
outcast,  must  bear  it  all  in  silence,  for — the  vat  a  tlefencelest  uoman,  and 
a  ttranger.  Let  any  man  of  ordinary  fVeling  th.  situation  ut  this 

trying  crisis,  and  say  he  does  not  feel  h.»  heart's  blood  boil  within  him! 
Poor  unfortunate !  who  could  have  envied  her  her  salaried  shame,  and  her 
royal  humiliation  ?  The  lowest  peasant  in  her  reversionary  realm  was  hap- 
py in  the  comparison.  Tlie  parents  that  loved  her  were  far,  far  away — 
the  friends  of  her  youth  were  in  another  land — she  was  alone,  and  he  who 
should  have  rushed  between  her  and  the  bolt  of  heaven,  left  her  exposed 
to  a  rude  world's  caprices.  And  yet  she  lived,  and  lived  without  a  mur- 
mur ;  her  tears  were  silent — her  sighs  were  lonely ;  and  when  you,  per- 
haps, in  the  rich  blaze  of  earth's  magnificence,  forgot  that  such  a  wretch 
existed,  no  reproach  of  her's  awoke  your  mory.  Perhaps 

she  cherished  the  visional  y  hope  tha1.  •  rilous  infancy" 

she  cradled,  might  one  day  be  her  li ...  .er's  advocate  '  How  fond- 

ly did  she  trace  each  taint  resemblat.;  lutlecasual  paternal  smile, 

which  played  upon  the  features  of  that  child,  and  might  some  distant  day 
be  her  redemption!  How,  as  it  lisped  the  sacred  name  of  father,  did  she 
hope  its  innocent  infant  tone  might  yet  awake  within  that  father's  breast 
some  fond  association  !  Oh,  sacred  fancies!  Oh,  sweet  and  solemn  visions 
•f  a  mother — who  but  must  hallow  thec  !  Blest  be  the  day-dream  that  be- 
guiles her  heart,  and  robes  each  cloud  that  hovers  o'er  her  child  in  airy 
colours  of  that  heart's  creation  !  Too  soon  lift's  wintry  whirlwind  must 
come  to  sweep  the  prismed  vapour  into  nothing. 

Tim*,  Sire,  for  many  and  many  a  heavy  year  did  your  deserted  Queen 
beguile  her  solitude.  Meanwhile  for  t/cu  a  flattering  world  assumed  its 
fiarlot  smiles — the  ready  lie  denied  your  errors— the  villain  courtier  deifi- 
ed each  act,  which  in  an  humble  man  was  merely  duty,  and  mid  the  din 
of  pomp  and  mirth,  and  revelry,  if  remorse  spoke,  'twas  inarticulate.  Be- 
lieve me  Sire,  when  all  the  tongues  that  flattered  you  are  mute,  and  all 
the  gaudy  pageants  that  deceived  you  are  not  even  a  shadow,  an  awful 
voice  will  ask  in  thunder,  did  your  poor  wife  deserve  this  treatment,  mere- 
ly from  some  distate  of  "inclination  ?"  It  must  be  answered.  Did  not  the 
altar *•>  vow  demand  a  strict  fidelity,  and  was  it  not  a  solemn  and  a  sworn- 
duty,  "  for  better  and  for  worse,"  to  watch  and  tend  her— correct  her 


79 

waywardness  by  gentle  chiding,  and  fling  the  fondness  of  an  huasband's 
love  between  her  errors  and  the  world  ?  It  must  be  answered,  where  the 
poorest  rag  upon  the  poorest  beggar  in  your  realm,  shall  have  the  splen- 
dour of  a  corronation  garment. 

Sad,  alas !  were  these  sorrows  of  her  solitude — but  sad  as  they  were, 
they  were  but  in  their  infancy.  The  first  blow  passed — a  second  and  se- 
verer followed.  The  darling  child,  over  whose  couch  she  shed  her 
silent  tear — upon  whose  head  she  pcured  her  daily  benediction — in  whose 
infant  smile  she  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  her  being,  was  torn  away,  and 
in  the  mother's  sweet  endearments  she  could  no  longer  lose  the  miseries 
of  the  wife.  Her  father,  and  her  laurelled  brother  too,  upon  the  field  of 
battle,  sealed  a  life  of  glory,  happy  in  a  soldier's  death,  tar  happier  that 
this  dreadful  day  was  spared  them!  Her  sole  surviving  parent  followed 
soon,  and  though  they  left  her  almost  alone  on  earth,  yet  how  could  she 
regret  them  ?  she  has  at  least  the  bitter  consolation,  that  their  poor  child's 
miseries  did  not  break  their  hearts.  Oh,  miserable  woman  !  made  to  re- 
joice over  the  very  grave  of  her  kindred,  in  mournful  gratitude  that  their 
hearts  are  marble. 

During  a  long  probation  of  exile  and  wo,  bereft  of  parents,  country, 
child  and  husband,  she  had  one  solace  still — her  rfaraefer  was  unblemish- 
ed By  a  refinement  upon  cruelty,  even  that  consolation  was  denied  her. 
Twice  had  she  to  undergo  the  inquisition  of  a  secret  trial,  originating  in 
foul  conspiracy,  and  ending  in  complete  acquittal.  The  charity  of  her 
nature  was  made  the  source  of  crime — the  peculiarities  inseperuLle  from 
her  birth  were  made  the  ground  of  accusation — her  very  servants  were 
questioned  whether  every  thought,  and  word,  and  look,  and  gesture,  and 
visit,  were  not  so  many  overt  nets  of  adultery  ;  and  when  her  most  sacred 
moments  had  been  heartlessly  explored,  the  tardy  verdict  which  freed  her 
from  the  guilt,  could  not  absolve  her  from  the  humiliating  consciousness 
of  the  accusation.  Your  gracious  father,  indeed,  with  ;«  benevolence  of 
heart  more  royal  than  his  royalty,  interposed  his  arm  between  innocence 
and  punishment ;  for  punishment  it  was,  most  deep  and  grievous,  to  meet 
discountenance  from  all  your  family,  and  see  the  fame  which  had  defied 
all  proof  made  the  capricious  sport  of  hint  and  insinuation,  while  that  fa- 
ther lived  she  still  had  some  protection,  even  in  his  night  of  life  there  was 
a  sanctity  about  him  which  awed  the  daring  of  the  highway  slanderer— his 
honest,  open,  genuine  Kng lish  look,  would  have  silenced  whole  banditti  of 
Italians.  Your  father  acted  upon  the  principles  he  professed.  He  was 
not  more  reverenced  as  a  king  than  he  was  beloved  and  respected  as  a 
man;  and  no  doubt  he  felt  how  poignant  it  must  have  been  to  be  denoun- 
ced as  a  criminal  without  crime,  and  treated  as  a  widow  in  her  husband's 
life-time.  But  death  was  busy  with  her  best  protectors,  and  the  venera- 
ble form  is  lifeless  now,  -which  would  have  shielded  a  daughter  and  a 
Brunswick.  He  would  have  warned  the  Milan  panders  to  beware  the 
honour  of  his  ancient  house  ;  he  would  have  told  them  that  a  prying  pet- 
tifogging, purchased  inquisition  upon  the  unconscious  privacy  ot  a  royal 
female,  was  not  in  the  spirit  of  the  English  character;  he  would  have  dis- 
dained the  petty  larceny  of  any  diplomatic  pickpocket;  and  he  would  have 
told  the  whole  rabble  of  Italian  informers  and  swindling  ambassadors,  that 
his  daughter's  existence  should  not  become  a  perpetual  proscription  ;  that 
she  was  doubly  allied  to  him  by  birth  and  marriage;  and  that  those  who 
exacted  all  a  wife's  obedience,  should  have  previously  procured  for  her 
husband's  countenance.  God  reward  him!  There  is  not  a  father  or  an 
husband  in  the  land,  whose  heart  does  not  at  this  moment  make  a  pilgrim- 
age to  his  monument. 

Thus  having  escaped  from  two  conspiracies  equally  affecting  her  honor 
*nd  life,  finding  all  conciliation  hopeless,  bereft  by  death  of  every  natural 


78 

degradation.     Perhaps  thty  were  not :  but  give  me  leave  to  ask,  a: : 
the  obligations  of  rel-gion  independent  of  us  ?  Has  any  man  a  right  t . .  square 

*l 1 !  -  * C    t    •  N 


her  majesty  arraigned  before  them  read  to  you  this  ceremony.  They  will 
tell  you  it  is  the  most  solemn  ordinance  of  man--consecra(ed  by  the  ap- 
proving presence  of  our  Saviour—  acknowledged  by  the  whole  civilized 
community — the  source  of  life's  purest  pleasures,  and  of  death's  happiest 
consolations — the  rich  fountain  of  our  life  and  being1,  whose  draught  not 
only  purifies  existence,  but  causes  man  to  live  in  his  posterity  ;-thev  will  tell 
you  that  it  cannot  perish  by  "inclination,"  but  by  crime,  and  that  if  there  is 
any  difference  between  the  prince  and  the  peasant  who  invoke  its  obliga- 
tion, it  is  the  more  enlarg.-d  duty  entailed  upon  him,  to  whom  the  Al- 
v  has  vouchsafed  the  influence  of  an  example. 

Thus,  then,  \vithin  one  year  after  her  marriage,  was  she  flung  "like  a 
>ome  weed,"  upon  the  world.no  cause  assigned  except  your  loathing 
inclination!  It  mattered  nothing,  that  for  you  she  had  surrendered  all  her 
worldly  prospects — that  she  had  left  her  home,  her  parents  and  her  coun- 
try— that  she  had  confided  in  the  honour  of  a  prince,  and  the  heart  of  a 
man,  and  the  faith  ot  a  Christian  ;  she  had,  it  seems,  in  one  little  year, 
•'  outlived  your  liking,"  and  the  poor,  abandoned,  branded,  heart -rent 
outcast,  must  bear  it  all  in  silence,  for — she  vat  a  defencelett  woman,  and 
a  ttranger.  Let  any  man  of  or  :  situation  at  this 

trying  crisis,  and  say  he  does  not  feel  h  s.  heart's  bbod  boil  whhin  him! 
Poor  unfortunate !  who  could  have  envied  htr  her  salaried  shame,  and  her 
royal  humiliation  ?  The  lowest  peasant  in  her  reversionary  realm  was  hap- 
py in  the  comparison.  The  parents  that  loved  her  were  far,  far  away — 
the  friends  of  her  youth  were  in  another  land— she  was  alone,  and  he  who 
should  have  rushed  between  her  and  the  bolt  of  heaven,  left  her  exposed 
to  a  rude  world's  caprices.  And  yet  she  lived,  and  lived  without  a  mur- 
mur ;  her  tears  were  silent — her  sighs  were  lonely ;  and  when  you,  per- 
haps, in  the  rich  blaze  of  earth's  magnificence,  forgot  that  such  a  wretch 
existed,  no  reproach  of  her's  awoke  your  slumbering  memory.  Perhaps 
she  cherished  the  visionary  hope  tha'.  •  "rilous  infancy" 

she  cradled,  might  one  day  be  her  hapless  mother's  advocate  '  How  fond- 
ly did  she  trace  each  faint  resemblar..  little  casual  paternal  smile, 
which  played  upon  the  features  of  that  child,  and  might  some  distant  day 
be  her  redemption!  How,  as  it  lisped  the  sacred  name  of  father,  did  she 
hope  its  innocent  infant  tone  might  yet  awake  within  that  father's  breast 
some  fond  association  !  Oh,  sacred  fancies!  Oh,  sweet  and  solemn  visions 
•f  a  mother— who  but  must  hallow  thec  !  Blest  be  the  day-dream  that  be- 
guiles her  heart,  and  robes  each  cloud  that  hovers  o'er  her  child  in  airy 
colours  of  that  heart's  creation  !  Too  soon  lift's  wintry  whirlwind  must 
come  to  sweep  the  prismed  vapour  into  nothing. 

Thus,  Sire,  for  many  and  many  a  heavy  year  did  your  deserted  Queen 
beguile  her  solitude.  Meanwhile  for  you  a  flattering  world  assumed  its 
harlot  smiles — the  ready  lie  denied  your  errors — the  villain  courtier  deifi- 
ed each  act,  which  in  an  humble  man  was  merely  duty,  and  mid  the  din 
of  pomp  and  mirth,  and  revelry,  if  remorse  spoke,  'twas  inatticulate.  He- 
lieve  me  Sire,  when  all  the  tongues  that  flattered  you  are  route,  and  all 
the  gaudy  pageants  that  deceived  you  are  not  even  a  shadow,  an  awful 
voice  will  ask  in  thunder,  did  your  poor  wife  deserve  this  treatment,  mere- 
ly from  some  disute  of  "inclination  ?"  It  must  be  answered.  Did  not  the 
altar *»  vow  demand  a  strict  fidelity,  and  was  it  not  a  solemn  and  a  sworn 
duty,  "for  better  ami  for  worse,"  to  watch  and  tend  her— corre 


71) 

waywardness  by  gentle  chiding1,  and  fling  the  fondness  of  an  huasband's 
love  between  her  errors  and  the  world  ?  It  must  be  answered,  where  the 
poorest  rag  upon  the  poorest  beggar  in  your  realm,  shall  have  the  splen- 
dour of  a  corronation  garment. 

Sad,  ulas !  were  these  sorrows  of  her  solitude — but  sad  as  they  were, 
they  were  but  in  their  infancy.  The  first  blow  passed — a  second  and  se- 
verer followed.  The  darling  child,  over  whose  couch  she  shed  her 
silent  tear — upon  whose  head  she  poured  her  daily  benediction — in  whose 
infant  smile  she  lived,  and  moved,  and  had  her  being-,  was  torn  away,  and 
in  the  mother's  sweet  endearments  she  could  no  longer  lose  the  miseries 
of  the  wife.  Her  father,  and  her  laurelled  brother  too,  upon  the  field  of 
battle,  sealed  a  life  of  glory,  happy  in  a  soldier's  death,  tar  happier  that 
tiiis  dreadful  day  was  spared  them  !  Her  sole  surviving  parent  followed 
soon,  and  though  they  left  her  almost  alone  on  earth,  yet  how  could  she 
regret  them  ?  she  has  at  leasi  the  bitter  consolation,  that  their  poor  child's 
miseries  did  not  break  their  hearts.  Oh,  miserable  woman  !  made  to  re- 
joice over  the  very  grave  of  her  kindred,  in  mournful  gratitude  that  their 
hearts  are  marble. 

During  u  long  probation  of  exile  and  wo,  bereft  of  parents,  country, 
child  and  husband,  she  had  one  solace  still — her  character  was  unblemish- 
ed By  a  refinement  upon  cruelty,  even  that  consolation  was  denied  her. 
Twice  had  she  to  undergo  the  inquisition  of  a  secret  trial,  originating  in 
foul  conspiracy,  and  ending  in  complete  acquittal.  The  charity  of  her 
nature  was  made  the  source  of  crime — the  peculiarities  insuperable  from 
her  birth  were  made  the  ground  of  accusation — her  very  servants  were 
questioned  whether  every  thought,  and  word,  and  look,  and  gesture,  and 
visit,  were  not  so  many  overt  acts  of  adultery  ;  and  when  her  most  sacred 
moments  had  been  heartlessly  explored,  the  tardy  verdict  which  freed  her 
from  the  guilt,  could  not  absolve  her  from  the  humiliating  consciousness 
of  the  accusation.  Your  gmcious  father,  indeed,  with  a  benevolence  of 
heart  more  royal  than  his  royalty,  interposed  his  arm  between  innocence 
and  punishment ;  for  punishment  it  was,  most  deep  and  grievous,  to  meet 
discountenance  from  ull  your  family,  and  see  the  fame  which  had  tie fied 
all  proof  made  the  capricious  sport  of  hint  and  insinuation,  while  that  fa- 
ther lived  she  still  had  some  protection,  even  in  his  night  of  life  there  was 
a  sanctity  about  him  which  awed  the  during  of  the  highway  slanderer — his 
honest,  open,  genuine  Eng lish  look,  would  have  silenced  whole  banditti  of 
Italians.  Your  father  acted  upon  the  principles  he  professed.  He  was 
not  more  reverenced  as  a  king  than  he  was  beloved  and  respected  as  a 
man;  and  no  doubt  he  felt  how  poignant  it  must  have  been  to  be  denoun- 
ced as  a  criminal  without  crime,  and  treated  as  a  widow  in  her  husband's 
life-time.  But  death  was  busy  with  her  best  protectors,  and  the  venera- 
ble form  is  lifeless  now,  which  would  have  shielded  a  daughter  and  a 
Brunswick,  lie  would  have  warned  the  Milan  panders  to  beware  the 
honour  of  his  ancient  house  ;  he  would  have  told  them  that  a  prying  pet- 
tifogging, purchased  inquisition  upon  the  unconscious  privacy  ol  a  royal 
female,  was  not  in  the  spirit  of  the  English  character;  he  would  have  dis- 
dained the  pe tty  larceny  of  any  diplomatic  pickpocket  ;  and  he  would  have 
told  the  whole  rabble  of  Italian  informers  and  swindling  ambassadors,  that 
his  daughter's  existence  should  not  become  a  perpetual  proscription  ;  that 
she  was  doubly  allied  to  him  by  birth  and  marriage;  and  that  those  who 
exacted  all  a  wife's  obedience,  should  have  previously  procured  for  her 
husband's  countenance.  God  reward  him!  There  is  not  a  father  or  an 
husband  in  the  land,  whose  heart  does  not  at  this  moment  make  a  pilgrim- 
age to  his  monument. 

Thus  having  escaped  from  two  conspiracies  equally  affecting  her  honor 
and  life,  finding  all  conciliation  hopeless,  bereft  by  death  of  even'  natural 


protector,  and  fearing  perhaps  that  practiee  might  mat  e  perjxiy  eotui 
she  rthictuntly  determined  on  leaving  England.  One  pang  alone  embit- 
tered her  departure— her  darling,  and  in  despite  of  all  discountenance,  her 
duteous  child,  clung  round  her  heart  with  natural  tenacity.  Parents  who 
love,  and  feel  «hat  very  love  compelling  separation,  can  only  feel  for  her. 
Yet  how  could  she  subject  that  devoted  child  to  the  humiliation  of  her  mo- 
ther's misery  !  How  reduce  her  to  the  sad  alternative  of  selecting  between 
separated  parents!  She  chose  the  generous,  the  noble  sacrifice — self- 
banished,  the  world  was  before  her— one  grateful  sigh  for  England — one 
tear — the  last,  last  tear  upon  her  daughter's  head — and  she  departed. 

Oh  Sire,  imagine  her  at  that  departure!  How  changed  !  how  fallen,  since 
n  few  short  years  before,  she  touched  the  shores  of  England  !  The  day- 
beam  fell  not  on  a  happier  creature — creation  caught  new  colours  from 
her  presence,  joy  sounded  its  timbrel  as  she  passed,  and  the  flowers  of 
birth,  of  beaut},  and  of  chivalry,  bowed  down  before  her.  But  now,  alone, 
an  orphan  and  a  widow!  her  gallant  brother  in  his  shroud  of  glory  :  no 
arm  to  shield,  no  tongue  to  advocate,  no  friend  to  follow  an  o'er-clouded 
fortune;  branded,  degraded,  desolate,  she  flung  herself  once  more  upon  the 
•wave,  to  her  less  fickle  than  a  husbands  promises'  1  do  not  wonder  that  she 
has  now  to  pass  through  a  severer  ordeal,  because  impunity  gives  persecu- 
tion confidence.  But  I  marvel  indeed  murh,  that  then,  after  the  agony  of 
an  ex  parte  trial,  and  the  triumph  of  a  complete  though  lingering  excul- 
pation, the  natural  spirit  of  English  justice  did  not  stand  embodied  be- 
tween her  and  the  shore,  and  bear  her  indignant  to  your  capital.  The 
people,  the  peerage,  the  prelacy,  should  have  sprung  into  unanimous  pro- 
cession ;  all  that  was  noble  or  powerful,  or  consecrated  in  the  land,  should 
have  borne  her  to  the  palace  gate,  and  demanded  why  their  queen  present- 
ed to  iheir  eye  this  gross  a  lomuly  !  \Vh\  her  anointed  brow  should  bow 
down  in  the  dust,  when  a  British  verdict  had  pronounced  her  innocence  ! 
she  was  refused  that  conjugal  restitution,  which  her  humblest  sub- 
ject had  a  righi  to  claim!  Why  the  annals  of  their  time  should  be  disgra- 
ced, and  the  morals  of  their  nation  endure  the  taint  of  this  terrific  prece- 
dent ,  and  why  it  was  that  after  their  countless  sacrifices  for  your  royal 
house,  they  should  be  cursed  with  this  pageantry  of  royal  humiliation  \ 
Had  they  so  acted  the  dire  affliction  of  this  day  might  have  Lecn  spared 
us.  We  should  not  have  seen  the  filthy  sewers  of  Italy  disgorge  a  living 
leprosy  upon  our  throne;  and  slaves  and  spies,  imported  from  acreedless 
brothel,  land  to  attaint  the  sacred  Majesty  of  England  !  But  who,  alas! 
-iccnur  the  unfortunate*  The  cloud  of  your  displeasure  was  upon  her, 
and  the  gay,  glit'ering,  countless  insect  swarm  of  summer  friends,  abide 
but  in  the  sun-beum!  She  passed  away — with  sympathy  I  doubt  not,  but 
in  si!- 

Who  could  have  thought,  that  in  a  foreign  land,  the  restless  fiend  of 
persecution  would  have  haunted  her  I*  Who  could  have  thought,  that  in 
tliosi  distant  climes,  where  her  distracted  brain  had  sought  oblivion,  the 
demoniac  malice  of  her  enemies  would  have  followed  ?  who  could  have 
thought  that  any  human  form  which  had  an  heart,  would  have  skulked 
after  the  mourner  in  her  wanderings,  to  note  and  con  every  unconscious 
gesture?  who  could  have  thought,  that  such  a  man  there  was,  who  had 
drank  at  the  pure  fountain  of  our  British  law!  who  had  seen  eternal  jus- 
tice in  her  sanctuary!  who  had  invoked  the  shades  of  Holt  and  Hard- 
wicke,  and  held  high  converse  with  those  mighty  spirits,  whom  mercy 
hailed  in  heaven  as  her  representatives  on  earth  ! 

such  a  man  there  was  ;  who,  on  the  classic  shores  of  Como,  even  in 
the  land  of  the  illustrious  Roman,  where  every  stone  entombed  an  hero,  and 
every  scene  was  redolent  of  genius,  forgot  his  name,  his  country,  and  his 
calling,  to  hoard  such  coinable  and  rabble  slander!  oh,  sacred  shade 


81 

of  our  departed  sages  !  avert  ynur  eyes  from  this  unhallowed  spectacle ; 
the  spotless  ermine  is  unsullied  still ;  the  ark  yet  stands  untainted  in 
the  temple,  and  should  unconsecrated  hands  assail  it,  there  is  a  light- 
ning- still,  which  would  not  slumber!  No,  no,  the  judgment  seat  of 
British  law  is  to  he  soared,  not  crawled  to;  it  must  be  sought  upon  an 
egle's  pinion  and  gazed  at  by  an  eagle's  eye ;  there  is  a  radiant  purity  around 
it,,  to  blast  the  glance  of  grovelling  speculation.  His  labour  was  in  vain, 
Sire,  the  people  of  England  w, it  not  listen  to  Italian  witnesses,  nor  ought 
they.  Our  queen,  has  been,  before  Jus,  twice  assailed,  and  assailed  on  Uie 
same  charges.  Adultery,  nay,  pregnancy,  was  positively  sworn  to,  one  of  the 
ornaments  of  our  navy  captain  Manby,  and  one  of  the  most  glorious  he- 
roes who  ever  gave  a  nation  immortality,  a  spirit  of  Marathon  or  old  Ther- 
mopylae i  he  who  planted  England*!  red  cross  on  the  walls  of  Acre,  and 
showed  Napoleon,  it  was  invincible,  W..TJ  the  branded  triitors  to  their 
sovereign's  bed  !  Englishmen,  and,  greater  scandal,  English  women,  per- 
sons of  rank,  and  birth,  and  education,  were  found  to  depose  to  this  infer- 
nal charge !  the  royal  mandate  issued  for  inquiry  ;  Lord  Ei  skine,  Lord  El- 
lenborough,  a  man  who  had  dandled  accusations  from  his  infancy,  sat  on 
the  commission,  and  what  was  the  rc>uU^  i'hri;  found  a  verdict  of  perju- 
ry again* t  her  base  accusers  !  The  very  child  for  whose  parentage  she 
might  have  shed  her  sacred  blood,  was  proved  b.-yond  all  possible  denial, 
to  have  been  but  the  adr.piiou  of  her  charity.—  uchre 

to  your  majesty  our  perfect  conviction,  that  there  is  no  foundation  what- 
ever for  believing,  (1  quote  the  very  words  of  the  commissioners,)  that  the 
child  now  with  the  princess,  is  the  child  of  her  royal  highness,  or  that  she 
was  delivered  of  any  child  in  the  year  18J2;  nor'has  any  thing  uppeart  d 
to  us,  which  would  warrant  the  belief  that  she  was  pregnant  in  the  year,  or 
at  any  other  prrio-.I  within  the  compass  of  our  nu/niries.^  Yrt  people  of 
rank,  and  station,  moving  in  the  highest  society  in  England,  admitted 
even  to  the  sovereign's  court,  actually  volunteered  tl.eir  sworn  at- 
testation of  this  falshood!  Twenty  \\  ars  have  rolled  over  her  since,  ar.d 
yet  the  same  foul  charge  of  adul.cry,  sustained  not  as  before  by  the  plau- 
sible fabrications  of  Englishmen,  but  holsieml  by  the  habitual  inventions 
of  Italians,  is  sought  to  b«-  aiii\«.a  to  .  of  her  life,  in  the  face  oi  a 

generous  and  a  loyal  people !  A  kind  of  sacramental  shipload — a  packed 
and  assorted  cargo  of  human  affidavits  ha<>  been  consigned,  it  seems,  from 
Italy  to  Westminster;  thirty  thousand  pounds  of  the  people's  money  paid 
the  pedlar  who  selected  the  articles;  and  with  this  infected  freight,  which 
should  have  performed  quarantine  before  it  vomited  its  moral  pestilence 
amongst  us,  the  queen  of  England  is  sought  to  be  attainted!  It  canno  be, 
Sire;  we  have  given  much,  very  much  indeed,  to  foreigners,  but  we  will 
not  concede  to  them  the  hard-earned  principles  of  Btitish  justice.  It  is 
not  to  be  endured,  that  two  acquittals  should  be  followed  by  a  third  expe- 
riment; tl; a  he  English  testament  has  failed,  an  Italian  miasuf 's 
kiss  shall  be  resorted  to;  that  when  people  of  character  here  have  been 
discredited,  others  should  be  recruited  who  have  no  character  any  where  ; 
but  above  all,  it  is  intolerable,  that  a  defenceless  woman  should  pass  her  life 
in  endless  persecution,  with  one  trial  in  swift  succession  following  another* 
in  the  hope  perhaps,  that  her1  noble  heart  which  has  defied  all  proof  should 
perish  in  the  torture  of  eternal  accusation.  Send  back,  'hen,  to  Italy,  those 
alien  adventurers;  the  land  of  their  birth,  and  the  habits  of  their  lives, 
alike  uv.fit  for  an  English  court  of  justice.  There  is  no  spark  of  freedom 
— no  grace  of  religion — no  sense  of  morals  in  their  degenerate  soil.  Effe- 
minate in  manners;  sensual  from  their  cradles;  crafty,  venal,  and  officious; 
naturalized  to  crime  ;  outcasts  of  credulity ;  they  have  seen  from  their 
infancy  their  court  a  bagnio,  their  very  churches  scenes  of  daily  assass. na- 
tion! their  faith  is  form;  their  marriage  ceremony  a  mere  mask  for  the 

11 


82 

most  incestuous  intercourses;  goldis  th*£od  before  which  they  pi«ost»ait 
every  impulse  of  their  nature.  "A,  euri  sacra  fames!  quid  non  mortalia 
pectora  cogis!"  the  once  indignant  exclamation  of  their  antiquity,  has 
become  the  maxim  of  their  modern  practice. 

No  nice  extreme  a  true  Italian  knows : 
But,  bid  him  go  to  hell — to  hell  he  goes. 

Away  with  them  any  where  from  us  ;  they  cannot  live  in  England ;  they 
will  die  in  the  purity  of  its  moral  atmosphere. 

Meanwhile  during  this  accursed  scrutiny,  even  while  the  legal  blood- 
hounds were  on  the  scent,  the  last  dear  stay  which  bound  her  to  the  world 
parted,  the  princets  Charlotte  died.'  I  will  not  harrow  up  a  father's  feel- 
ings, bv  dwelling  on  this  dreadful  recollection.  The  poet  says,  that  even 
grief  finds  comfort  in  society,  and  England  wept  with  yon.  But,  oh,  God  J 
what  must  have  been  that  hapless  mother's  misery,  when  first  the  dismal  ti- 
dings came  upon  her!  The  darling  child  over  whose  cradle  she  had  shed  s» 
many  tears — whose  lightest  look  was  treasured  in  her  memory — who,  amid 
the  world's  frown,  still  smiled  upon  her — the  fair  and  lovely  flower,  which, 
when  her  orb  was  quenched  in  tears,  lost  not  its  filial,  its  divine  fidelity ! 
It  was  blighted  in  its  blossom— its  verdant  stem  was  withered,  and  in  a 
foreign  land  she  heard  it,  and  alone — no,  no,  not  quite  alone.  The  myr- 
midons of  British  hate  •were  around  her,  and  when  her  heart's  salt  tears 
were  blinding  h*r.  a  German  nobleman  was  plundering  he"  letters  Bethink 
you  Sire,  if  that  fair  paragon  of  daughters  lived,  woutcl  England's  heart 
be  wrung  with  this  inquiry  ?  Oh  !  she  would  have  torn  the  diamonds  from 
her  brow,  and  dashed  each  royal  mockery  to  the  earth,  and  rushed  before 
the  people,  not  in  a  monarch's,  but  in  nature's  rnajeity — a  child  appealing 
fbr  her  persecuted  mother!  and  God  would  bless  the  sight,  and  ma» 
would  hallow  it,  and  every  little  infant  in  the  land  who  felt  a  mother's 
warm  tear  upon  her  cheek,  would  turn  by  instinct  to  that  sacred  sum- 
mons. Your  daughter  in  her  shroud,  is  r.tt  alive;  Sire — her  spirit  is  amongst 
us — it  rose  untombed  when  her  poor  mother  landed — it  walks  amid  the 
people — it  has  left  the  angels  to  rroiec*  the  parent. 

The  them*»  is  sacred,  and  I  will  not  sully  it— I  will  not  recapitulate 
the  griefs,  and,  worse  than  griefs,  the  little,  pitiful,  deliberate  insult* 
which  are  burning  on  every  tongue  in  England.  Every  hope  blighted — 
every  friend  discountenanced — her  kindred  in  their  grave — her  declared 
innocence  made  but  the  herald  to  a  more  cruel  accusation — her  two  trials 
fbllowed  by  a  third,  a  third  on  the  same  charges — her  royal  character  in- 
sinuated away  by  German  picklocks  and  Italian  conspirators — her  divorce 
sought  by  an  extraordinary  procedure,  upon  grounds  untenable  before 
any  usual  lay  or  ecclesiastical  tribunal — her  name  meanly  erased  from  the 
Liturgy — her  natural  rights  as  a  mother  disregarded,  and  her  civil  right 
as  a  queen  sought  to  be  exterminated  !  and  all  this — all,  because  she  dared 
to  touch  the  sacred  soil  of  liberty!  because  she  did  not  banish  herself,  an 
implied  adultress !  because  she  would  not  be  bribed  into  an  abandonment 
of  herself  and  of  the  country  over  which  she  has  been  called  to  reign,  and 
to  which  her  heart  is  bound  by  the  most  tender  tics,  and  the  most  indelible 
obligations.  Yes,  she  might  have  lived  wherever  she  selected,  in  all  the 
magnificence  which  boundless  bribery  could  procure  for  her,  offered  her 
by  those  who  affect  such  tenderness  for  your  royal  character,  and  such  de- 
votion to  the  honour  of  her  royal  bed.  If  they  thought  her  guilty,  as 
they  allege,  this  daring  offer  was  a  double  treason — treason  to  your  ma. 
jesty,  whose  honour  they  compromised — treason  to  the  people,  whose 
money  they  thus  prostituted.  But  she  spurned  the  infamous  temptation, 
and  she  was  right.  She  was  right  to  front  h«r  insatiable  accusers ;  even 


88 

fere  she  guilty,  never  was  there  victim  with  such  crying  palliations;  but 
all  innocent,  as  in  my  conscience  I  believe  her  to  be,  not  perhaps  o:  the 
levities  contingent  on  her  birth,  and  which  shall  not  be  converted  into  con- 
structive crime,  but  of  the  cruel  charge  of  adultery,  now  for  a  third  time 
produced  against  her.  She  was  right,  bereft  of  the  court,  which  was  her 
natural  residence,  and  all  buoyant  with  innocence  as  she  felt,  bravely  to 
fling  herself  upon  the  wave  of  the  people — that  people  will  protect  her— 
Britain's  red  cross  is  her  flag,  and  Brunswick's  spirit  is  her  pilot.  May 
the  Almighty  send  her  royal  vessel  triumphant  into  harbour  ! 

Sire,  I  am  almost  done,  1  have  touched  but  slightly  on  your  queen's  mis- 
fortunes— I  have  contracted  the  volume  of  her  injuries  to  a  single  page, 
and  if  upon  that  page  one  word  offend  you,  impute  it  to  my  real,  not  my 
intention.  Accustomed  all  my  lift-  to  speak  the  simple  truth,  i  offer  it 
with  fearless  honesty  to  my  sovereign.  You  are  in  a  difficult — it  may  be 
in  a  most  perilious  emergency.  Banish  from  your  court  the  sycophants 
who -abuse  you  ;  surround  your  palace  with  approving  multitudes,  not  with 
armed  mercenaries.  Other  crowns  may  be  bestowed  by  despots  and  en- 
trenched by  cannon ;  but 

The  throne  we  houuur  is  the  people's  choice. 

Its  safest  bulwark  is  the  popular  heart,  and  its  brightest  ornament  do- 
mestic Tirtne.  Forget  not  also,  there  is  a  throne  which  is  above  even  the 
throne  of  England— where  flatterers  cannot  conn- — where  kings  are  scep- 
treless.  The  vows  you  made  are  written  in  language  br.gh  er  thai'  the 
sun,  and  in  the  course  of  nature,  you  must  soon  confront  them  i  pn-pare 
the  way  by  effacing  now,  each  seeming,  slight  and  fancied  injury,  and 
when  you  answer  the  last  awful  trump*  t,  be  your  answer  this,  "  GOD  I 
FORGAVE— I  HOPE  TO  BE  FORGIVEN  " 

Uut,  if  against  all  policy,  and  all  humanity,  and  all  religion,  you  should 
hearken  to  the  counsels  which  further  countenance  this  unmanly  persecu- 
tion, then  must  1  appeal  not'o  you  but  to  your  parliament.  I  appeal  to.'he 
tacred  prelacy  of  England,  whether  the  holy  vows  which  their  high  church 
administered,  have  been  kept  towards  this  illustrious  lady — whether  tho 
hand  of  man  should  have  erased  her  from  that  page,  with  which  it  is 
worse  than  blasphemy  in  man  to  interfere — whether,  as  Heaven's  vicege- 
rents, they  will  not  abjure  the  sordid  passions  of  the  earth,  imitate  the  in- 
spired humanity  of  their  Sariour ;  and  like  Him,  protect  a  persecuted 
creature  from  the  insatiate  fangs  of  ruthless,  bloody,  and  untiring  accu- 
sation ! 

I  appeal  to  tie  hereditary  peerage  of  the  realm,  whether  they  will  aid 
this  levelling  denunciation  of  their  queen — whether  they  will  exhibit  the 
unseemly  spectacle  of  illustrious  rank  and  royal  lineage  degraded  for  the 
orime  of  claiming  its  inheritance — whether  they  will  hold  a  son  of  civil 
crimination,  where  the  accused  is  entitled  to  the  mercy  of  an  impeachment.- 
or  whether  they  wid  say  with  their  immortal  ancestors — "  We  will  not 
tamper  with  the  laws  of  England  !" 

I  appeal  to  the  ermined  independent  judges,  whether  life  is  to  be  made 
a  perpetual  indictment— whether  two  acquittals  should  not  discountenance 
a  third  experiment — whether  if  any  subject  suitor  came  to  their  tribunal 
thus  circumstanced,  claiming  either  divorce  or  compensation,  they  would 
grant  his  suit ;  and  I  invoke  from  them,  by  the  eternal  majesty  of  Bri- 
tish justice,  the  same  measure  for  the  peasant  and  the  prince  ! 

I  appeal  to  the  Commons  in  Parliament  assembled,  representing  the  fa- 
thers  and  the  husbands  of  the  nation — I  beseech  tftem  by  the  outraged 
morals  of  the  land !  By  the  overshadowed  dignity  of  the  throne  !  by  the 
holiest  and  tenderest  forrag  of  religion!  by  the  hanoar  of  the  army,  th» 


84 

sanctity  of  the  church,  the  safety  of  the  state,  and  character  of  the 
country1  by  the  solemn  virtues  which  consecrate  their  hearths'  by  those 
fond  endearments  of  nature  and  of  habit  which  attach  them  to  their 
cherished  wives  and  families,  I  implore  their  tears,  their  protection,  and 
their  pity  upon  the  married  widow  and  the  childless  mother ! 

To  those  high  powers  and  authorities  I  appeal  with  the  firmest  con- 
fidence in  their  honour,  their  integrity,  and  their  wisdom.  May  their 
conduct  justify  my  faith,  and  raise  no  blush  on  the  cheek  of  our  pos- 
terity ! 

I  have  the  honour  to  subscribe  myself, 

Sire, 
Your  Majesty's  most  faithful  subject, 

CHARLKS  PHILLIPS. 


Othello- s  Apology. 

MOST  potent,  grave  and  reverend  Seigniors, 
i\ly  very  noble  and  approv'd  good  mastt 
That  I  have  ta  en  away  this  old  man's  daughter, 
It  is  most  true;  true,  1  have  married  her; 
The  very  head  and  front  of  my  offending 
Hath  this  extent;  no  more.      Kudo-  am  I  in  speech, 
And  little  bless'd  >vith  the  set  phrase  of  peace; 
For  since  these  arms  of  mine  had  seven  years  pith, 
'Till  now  some  nine  moons  wasted,  they  have  us'd 
Their  dearest  action  in  the  tented  field  ; 
And  little  of  this  great  world  can  I  speak 
More  than  pertains  to  feats  of  broils  and  battle; 
And  therefore  little  shall  I  grace  my  cause, 
In  speaking  for  myself.     Yet,  by  your  patience, 
I  will  a  round  unvarnish'cl  talc  deliver, 
Of  my  whole  course  of  love  ;  what  drugs,  what  charms, 
What  conjuration,  and  what  mighty  magic, 
(For  such  proceeding  I  am  charg'd  withal) 
I  won  his  daughter  with 

Her  father  iov'd  me,  oft  invited  me ; 
Still  questioned  me  the  story  of  my  life, 
From  year  to  year;  the  battles,  sieges,  fortunes, 
Tha   I  have  past. 

I  ran  it  through,  e'en  from  my  boyish  days, 
To  th*  very  moment  that  he  bade  me  tell  it. 
Wherein  I  spoke  of  most  disastrous  chances, 
Of  moving  accidents  by  flood  and  field; 
Of  hair-breadth  'scapes  in  the  imminent  deadly  breach; 
Of  being  taken  by  the  insolent  foe, 
And  sold  to  slavery:  of  my  redemption  thence, 
And  with  it  all  my  travel's  history: 
Wherein  of antres  vast,  and  deserts  idle, 


85 

Rough  quarries,  rocks,  and  hills,  whose  heads  touch  heav'n, 

It  was  my  bent  to  speak — All  these  to  hear 

Would  iJesdemona  seriously  incline, 

But  still  the  house-affairs  would  draw  her  hence, 

Which  ever  as  she  could  with  haste  despatch, 

She'd  come  again,  and  with  a  greedy  ear 

Devour  up  my  discourse  :  which  I  observing, 

Took  once  a  pliant  hour,  and  found  good  means, 

To  draw  from  her  a  prayer  of  earnest  heart, 

That  I  would  all  my  pilgrimage  dilate ; 

Whereof  by  parcels  she  had  something  heard, 

But  not  distinctively.      I  did  consent, 

And  often  did  beguile  her  of  her  tears, 

When  I  did  speak  of  some  distressful  stroke    * 

That  my  youth  suffer'd.     My  story  being  done, 

She  gave  me  for  my  pains,  a  world  of  sighs, 

She  swore,  in  fait  ,  'twas  strange,  'twas  passing  strange; 

'Twas  pittiful,  'twas  womProus  pitiful 

She  wish  d  she  had  not  heard  it yet  she  wish'd 

That  heav'n  had  made  her  such  a  man  : — She  thank'd  me, 

And  bade  me,  if  I  had  a  friend  that  lov'd  her, 

I  should  but  teach  him  how  to  tell  my  story, 

And  that  would  woo  her.     On  this  hint  I  spake; 

She  lov'd  rne  for  the  clangers  I  had  past ; 

And  I  lov'd  her  that  she  did  pity  them. 

This  only  is  the  witchcraft  I  have  us'd. 

SlIAKSPEARE. 


Brutus  and  Cassius. 

Cas.  I  know  that  virtue  to  be  in  you,  Brutus, 
As  well  as  I  do  know  your  outward  favour. 

Well,  honour  is  the  subject  of  my  story. 

I  cannot  tell  what  you  and  other  men 

Think  of  this  life ;  but  for  my  single  self, 

I  had  as  lief  not  be,  as  live  to  be 

In  awe  of  such  a  thing  as  I  myself. 

I  was  born  free  as  Caesar ;  so  were  you  ; 

We  both  have  fed  as  well;  and  we  can  both 

ttidure  the  winter's  cold  as  well  as  he. 

For  once  upon  a  raw  and  gusty  day 

The  troubled  Tyber  chasing  with  his  shores3 

Caesar  says  to  me,  dar'st  thou,  Cassius,  now 

Leap  in  with  me  into  this  angry  flood, 

And  swim  to  yonder  point  ? — Upon  the  word, 

Accoutred  as  I  was,  I  plunged  in, 

And  bade  him  follow  ;  so;  indeed,  he  did. 


The  torrent  roar'd,  and  we  did  buffet  it 

With  lusty  sinens  ;  throwing  it  aside, 

And  stemming  it  with  hearts  of  controversy. 

But  ere  we  could  arrive  the  point  propos'd, 

Caesar  cry'd,  help  me  Cassius,  or  I  sink. 

I,  as  ./Eneas,  our  great  ancestor, 

Did  from  the  flames  of  Troy  upon  his  shoulder 

The  old  Anchises  bear;  so  from  the  waves  of  Tyber 

Did  I  the  tired  Caesar:  and  this  man 

Is  now  become  a  god  ;  and  Cassius  is 

A  wretched  creature,  and  must  bend  his  body, 

If  Caesar  carelessly  but  nod  on  him. 

He  had  a  fever  when  he  was  in  Spain, 

And  when    he  fit  was  on  him,  I  did  mark 

How  he  did  shake.     'Tis  true,  this  god  did  shake ; 

His  coward  lips  did  from  their  colour  fly, 

And  that  same  eye,  whose  bend  does  awe  the  world. 

Did  lose  its  lustre ;  I  did  hear  him  groan  : 

Ay,  and  that  tongue  of  his,  that  bade  the  Romans 

Mark  him,  and  write  his  speeches  in  their  books, 

Alas!  it  cry'd — (iive  me  some  drink,  Titinius — 

As  a  sick  girl.     Ye  gods,  it  doth  amaze  me, 

A  man  of  such  a  feeble  temper  should 

So  get  the  start  of  the  majestic  world, 

And  bear  the  palm  alone. 

Bru.  Another  general  shout! 
I  do  believe,  that  these  applauses  are 
For  some  new  honours  that  are  heap'd  on  Caesar. 

Cas.  Why  man,  he  doth  bestride  the  narrow  world 
Like  a  Colossus !  and  we  petty  men 
Walk  under  his  huge  legs,  and  peep  about 
To  find  ourselves  dishonourable  graves. 
Men  at  sometimes  are  masters  of  their  fates; 
The  fault,  dear  Brutus,  is  not  in  our  stars, 
But  in  ourselves,  that  we  are  underlings. 
Brutus — and  Cxsar — what  should  be  in  that  Cxsar: 
Why  should  that  name  be  sounded,  more  than  yours? 
Write  them  together;  your's  is  as  fair  a  name: 
Sound  them,  it  doth  become  the  mouth  as  well ; 
Weigh  them,  it  is  as  heavy  ;  conjure  with  'em, 
Brutus  will  start  a  spirit  as  soon  Cxsar. 
Now,  in  the  names  of  all  the  gods  at  once, 
Upon  what  meats  does  this  oar  Cxsar  feed, 
That  he  is  grown  so  great?  Age,  thou  art  sham'd, 
Rome,  thou  hast  lost  the  breed  of  noble  bloods. 
When  went  there  by  an  age,  since  the  great  flood, 
But  it  was  fanrd  with  more  than  with  one  man  ? 
When  could  they  say,  till  now,  that  talk'd  of  Rome, 


'£hat  her  wide  walls  encompass'd  but  one  man  i 
Oh  !  you  and  I  have  heard  our  fathers  say, 
There  was  a  Brutus,  one  that  would  have  brook'd 
The  eternal  devil,  to  keep  his  state  in  Rome 
AS  easily  as  a  king. 

SHAKSPEARE, 


On  Education. — BY  THE  REV.  DR.  MASON,  President 
of  Dickinson  College. 

The  revival  of  a  decayed  institution,  being  much  more  difficult  than  the 
establishment  of  a  new  one,  as  the  resurrection  of  a  dead  body  is  more 
arduous,  and  certainly  more  uncommon,  than  the  production  of  a  living  one; 
and  as  all  the  success,  humanly  speaking,  will  depend  upon  the  plan  to  be 
pursued,  it  may  be  due  to  the  occasion  to  say  a  few  words  on  a  subject, 
on  which  every  body  talks  confidently,  and  few  think  correctly,  while  the 
million  prate  without  thinking  at  all — the  subject  of  EDUCATION. 

Education,  if  I  mistake  not,  contemplates  three  objects,  the  evolution  of 
faculty  ',  the  formation  of  habitt,  and  the  cultivation  of  manners. 

I.  The  evolution  of  faculty— This,  of  course,  implies,  that  there  is  facul- 
ty to  be  evolved.  So,  that  like  all  created  power,  education  must  have  its 
materials  from  the  hand  of  the  Creator.  Itself  creates  nothing.  It  only 
brings  out  qualities  which  pre-existed.  It  is  a  manufacture,  and  like  all 
other  manufactures  must  have  the  raw  material  to  work  upon,  or  it  can  do 
nothing.  Many  well  meaning  people  imagine  that  it  is  in  the  power  of 
teachers  to  do  every  thing :  and  hard  measure  do  they  give  them  for  not 
working  miracles — for  not  converting  a  booby  into  a  lad  of  genius.  My 
friends,  you  must  not  expect  that  we  shall  do  what  the  Almighty  God  has 
not  done.  That  we  shall  furnish  brains  where  our  pupils  naturally  are 
without  them  I  know  no  more  thankless  and  desperate  experiment,  than 
an  attempt  to  educate  the  naturally  stupid.  It  may  well  enough  consort 
with  the  vocation  of  a  pedant,  who  provided  he  has  a  head  to  hummer  upon, 
is  well  enough  satisfied ;  but  it  is  grief,  and  misery,  and  purgatory,  to  a  man 
of  any  sense  or  feeling.  Persons,  with  uncouth  and  rugged  minds,  would 
be  employed  far  better  in  following  the  plough,  drawn  by  their  more  intel- 
ligent horses,  than  in  making  themselves  ridiculous  by  endeavouring  to 
obtain  a  liberal  education.  At  the  same  time  it  must  be  acknowledged  that 
the  seeds  of  natural  ability  are  pretty  equally  distributed  :  and  that  fine 
minds  are  often  lost  for  want  of  culture. 

"  Full  many  a  gem  of  purest  ray  serene, 
"  The  dark  unfathom'd,  caves  of  ocean  bear ; 
"  Full  many  a  flower  is  born  to  blush  unseen, 
"  And  waste  its  sweetness  on  the  desert  air.** 

Yes,  among  these  lads  who  know  no  other  use  for  their  limbs,  than  fel- 
ling the  forests  ;  -and  no  other  for  their  activity  of  mind  and  body,  than 
eaiching  the  wild  turkey,  the  pheasant,  or  the  deer,  there  are  some  master 
spirits  who  need  nothing  but  cultivation  to  bring  them  forth  into  their  pe- 
culiar action  ;  who  contain  the  rudiments  of  the  statesman's  skill,  and  the 
patriot's  fire,  and  may,  according  to  their  places,  become  the  VVashingtons 
the  Hamiltons,  and  the  Franklin's  of  future  days.  There  are,  among  these 
simple  rustics,  men  who  in  former  ages  would  ha've 


88 

"  Wielded  at  will  the  fierce  democracy, 
"  And  fulmin'd  over  Greece  to  Macedon 
"  And  Artaxerxes*  Throne." 

O,  could  we  but  light  upon  these  chosen  spirits,  these  minds  which  can 
balance  themselves  and  millions  of  other  men!  Could  Dickinson  present 
among  her  sons,  an  array  hostile,  terrible,  destructive,  to  all  the  legions  of 
infidelity  and  misrule,  she  might  well  hold  up  her  head  amid  the  semina- 
ries of  the  nation,  and  receive  their  homage,  not  less  freely  granted  than 
richly  merited. 

On  subordination  to  authority.  I  regret  to  say  that  in  all  thedena  tments  of 
society,  from  the  parental  controul  to  that  of  the  government,  this  i- 
by  our  youth  in  too  little  esteem.   Thtir  ambition,  \v 
be  manly  and  to  be  1  y  are,  therefore,  pr«;;ie  10  spurn  re- 

and  to  take  their  own  way:  esteemed  that  t"  be  a  noble  :  pirit  wiiich  ac- 
knowledges no  superior;  and  that  to  be  true  liberty  which  follows  its  own 
ure.     That  the  prevalence  of  such  .  produce  wide 

spreading  mi  chief,  is  manifest  to  every  sound  thh;'.  fen  to  the 

youth  themselves,  when  it  is  too  late  to  undo  the  c<>n  ,( (jvienct-6  In  the 
mean  time  it  militates  alike  against  thr  very  constitution  of  our  nature — 
against  the  most  express  commandments  of  God — and  ag;.i  >nnci- 

ples  of  action  which,  at  all  times  and  in  every  place,  but  from  peculiar 
causes,  in  the  p:  and  m  our  ov.  n  country,  are  necessary  to  the 

order  of  society  and  the  happiness  of  individuals. 

It  militates  against  runtution  of  our  nature.     It  is  not  for  no- 

thing;  it  is  for  benign  and  wise  purposes,  that  our   Creator  has    deier- 
-  Mould  come  into  the  world  utterly  feeble  and   helpless.     The 
first  friend  whom  the  infant  recognizes,  is  his  mother      To  her  tenderness, 
her  watchfulness,  her  s  more  than  to  the  kind- 

ness of  any  of  his  species.     Under  her  gentle  an-  tirst  buddings  of 

his  rational  nature  begin  to  unfold.  To  her  is  allotted  the  d»  li-h  fill  pro. 
vinre  of  teaching  '•  the  >oung  idea  how  to  shout."  ot  m;>ul  .irt— • 

of  cherishing  all  its  amiabl  -iithe 

"  sweet  charities"  of  life — of  leading  it  in  ;  >d  the  sovereign 

good      The  rudiments  of  m^ny  a  character  distinguislu-.i  -  lion- 

oured  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  can  be  traced  to  the  nursery  and  the 
lap.  O  most  charming  employment !  rich  >r  the  seclusion, 

pains,  to  ^tined!  O  most  refreshing 

abatement  of  the  sorrows  of  that  cup  which  has  been  assigned  to  woman 
for  her  priority  in  transgression  ! 

,  comes  the  father,  appointed  by  the  divine  mandate  to  be  the  head 
of  the  domestic  establishnu  ••.  II  -,  family  is  his  kingdom;  his  children 
are  his  subjects;  and  he  is  the  governour  in  his  own  house.  These  young 
subjects  are  submitted  to  his  rule:  he  knows  best,  at  least  better  than  they, 
what  is  for  their  good.  His  authority  is  to  be  their  reason  for  many,  for 
most  things,  while  they  are  quite  young.  And  should  they  prove  refrac- 
tory, his  superior  physical  force  can,  :  a  their  submis- 
sion, re,  both  parents  perform  their  duty,  their  children,  not- 
•. -uiaing  the  dreadful  drawback  of  human  depravity,  will  generally 
grow  up  trained  to  obedience.  Their  habits  will  be  incorporated  into 
their  character.  They  cannot  become  rude  and  disorderly  without  violating 
all  sense  of  decorum  and  gratitude ;  and  breaking  through,  besides, 
all  their  early  habit*.  The  common  sense  of  mankind  is  in  :<cc-)rdtmct 
all  ihis.  A  rough,  surly,  ungovernable,  boy,  there  is  nothin.;  more  com- 
mon than  to  call  ./  child.  Thus  are  children,  by  the  very  condi- 
tion of  their  being,  made  fit  subjects  for  order  which  "is  Heaven's  first 
And  he  who  requites  his  parents  care,  by  vicious  courses,  by  giving 


89 

inmself  up  to  the  service  of  iniquity,  which  is  the  essential  diawder  though 
lie  should  be  one  of  the  *'  fairest  spirits,"  that  ever  "  lost  heaven"  and 
should  be  plausible  and  seducing  as  Belial  himself,  deserves  no  other  ap- 
pellation than  that  of  H  monster. 

\  have  said  that  education  includes  the  cultivation  of  manners.  I 
mean  by  manners  all  those  lighter  things  in  conduct,  which  though  they 
do  not  occupy  the  rank  of  morals,  do  yet  belong1  to  the  embellishments 
and  ornaments  of  life. 

1  hardly  know  how  it  has  happened,  that  a"  scholar,"  is  become  a  com- 
mon term  for  every  thing  unpolished  and  uncouth.  Some  men,  indeed,  by 
the  greatness  oi'  -isis,  :ind  the  immensity  of  their  erudition,  have 

attained  a  sort  of  privileged  exemption  from  the  common  courteous  of  so- 
ciety. 13utthe  misery  i*.  that  the  same  exemption  is  claimed  by  thosi  who 
•  inly  rudeness,  which  they  mistake  for  genius  ;  and  disregard  of  civi- 
lity, which  pusses  with  them  for  erudition.  Thus,  if  scholar*  are  sometimes 
awkward  and  ;.  y  awkward,  inattentive  creature  calls  himself  a 

scholar.  Just  as,  to  use  a  comparison  of  the  late  Mr  (.'-uveni^ur  Morris, 
been  called  knaves,  ev<  ry  knave  should,  of 

course,  suppose  himself  a  statesman."  Certain  however,  it  is,  that  no 
young  men  halve  enjoyed  the  reputation  of  being  ill-bred,  unmannerly,  and 
>;•,  more  than  Students  of  Collejp  there  any  thing 

in  the  retreats  of  the  muses  to  ch  i  :,h  ferocity  •  Do  men  necessarily  become 
brutes,  wl.  Id  gives  them  credit  for  becoming  philosophers? 

Does  the  acquisition  -  .  especially  moral  science,  involve  the  des- 

truction of  decency  ?  So  that  after  a  \  0:1:1-  man  has  U  f t  codege  laden  with 
all  its  honours,  he  h;.  .  hool,  in  practical  life,  before  he 

•  lit.  for  the  company  of  gentlemen  and  ladie?.  ?  1  blush  to  think  that 
the  priace,  which  of  al]  i  supposed  to  teach  a  young  man  manners, 

»  the  army  :  Thai  the  kindness,  the  courtesy,  the  chivalry  ot  life,  should 
be  associated  with  t!:  blood  !  Th.;«  the  pistol  and  the  dagger, 

shouU:  !-.  and  of  politi -ness,  with  gentlemen  :  and 

that  when  1  der  the'n  ',aw  of  (iod  and  man; 

'-Mid  all  thu  human  I  >nd  ought  to  I),  of  high  accou  it 

in  human  made  tlu*  apor  of  rr.nmenta.">  passion,  they  should 

still  be  aid.  ''There  is  some- 

thing rotten  in  tlu-  slate  of  Denmark  !" 

\Vhat  tlun  is  the  government  which  ought  to  be  pursued,  and  will  per- 
viong  young  men  !  One  which  is  very  plain,  very  sim- 
ple, though  unhappily  not  very  common  ;  and  one  which  will  carry  the 
:nily  up  to  a  nation.  The  whole  secret  consists 
in  b<  ing  reasonable,  being  ^/r'rw,  and  being  uniform, 

1.  In  being  reasonable.    Whatever  you  requiie,  must  be  such  as  cannot 
fairly  be  objected  to :  such  as  In-long  to  the  situation,  of  your  pupil,  his 
duties,  and  his  time  of  life.     It  is  a  very  strong  point  gained  to  have  his 
conscitnce  on  your  side.  You  are  not  to  demand  what  he  is  unable  <.o  per- 
form.    And  if  such  happen  to  be  his  situation,  it  must  be  altered  accord- 
ingly,   (ireat  care  must  then  be  taken  to  see  that  your  commands  are  rea- 
sonable; this  matter  being  settled,  I  say: 

2.  That  a  good  government  ought  to  be  Jinn.     Intreaty  and  supplication 
ought  to  have  no  more  influence  upon  its  proceedings,  than    upon  the 
bci.ch  of  the  Supreme  court;  and  a  youth  should  count  no  more  upon  its 
pliancy.     1  do  not  mean  to  assert,  that  a  teacher  or  governour  of  youth 
should  never  acknowledge  an  errour  ;  or  that  he  should  obstinately  adhere 
to  a  thing  because  he  has  said  or  ordered  it.  lie  is  a  miserable  pauper  whom 
the  loss  of  a  six  pence  will  bankrup  •  and  in  intellectual  matters  he  is  no 
richer,  who  cannot  afford  to  COR<:          mistake.     He  must  not,  indeed,  do 
this  often.    But  occasional)'  utm  *st  trrare*  he  may  by  owning 


so 

that  he  has  been  mistaken,  doing  it  freely,  doing-  it  magnanimously,  »ttac1x 
the  affections  of  the  youth  very  strongly  to  hi>  p  .iffirm  his  autho- 

Ti\y  b>  those  very  means  which  would  Weaken  it  in  an  undecided  and  inca- 
pable man. 

3.  1  add,  once  nv>re,  that  a  government,  to  be  good  f<>r  any  thing,  muat 
be  uniform.  By  uniform,  1  mean  that  it  shall  be  habitually  the  same  thing  ; 
that  when  you  i  cisions  at  one  time,  you  know  where  10  find 

them  at  another:  thai  it  shall  not  be  marked  b)  whim  :  shall  nut  be  moved 
out  of  its  course  by  gusts  of  passion  :  slull  not,  in  a  fit  of  great  good  hu- 
mour, allow  to-day  what  in  a  fit  of  ill-humour  it  will  forbid  to-morrow.  Shall 
not,  therefore,  tease  and  »ex  he  subjects  of  it  by  it*  nckU -ness,  and  varia- 
bleness. These  should  aluavs  know  what  they  ha\e  to  depend  upon;  and 
not  s?e  the  elements  of  order  dislui  bed  and  broken  up,  by  ihe  prevalence 
of  official  ditvrJer. 

a  government  adminis'ered  upon  such  principles,  and  marked 
in  it?    exeiai  acis  by  courtesy,  by  kindness,  by  the  frankness  and  dignitj  of 

men,  1  am  persuaded  that  depravity  herself  could  not  muster  up  any 

like  H  formidable  conspiracy. 

Such,  gentlemen,  we  profess  to  be  our  aim  ;  and  in  the  prosecution  of 
such  an  a  m  we.  feel  confident  of  your  suppoi  t.  Although  we  do  not  ex- 
pect to  have  n.nch,  if  any,  reas<>n  to  ap|-U  for  it.  \\  <  do  hope,  thai  an  ap- 
pe.il  to  thi  understanding,  the  magnanimity,  the  conscience,  of  the  students, 

ccasionally 

tarnished  of  oilier  Colleges  ;  u  ,-ction  will  do  fur  us, 

what  the  exercise  of  mere  authority   bus  not  betu  able  to  do  for  ol 
aitach  the  btudcnis  more  and  more  to  the  interests  of  their  J'.'iu  .Water. 


On  the  necessity  of  Learning  in  the  .V  hi  inters  of 
Gospel.  —  B\   inr.  KK\.  r.  LIM»U;\. 


But,  brethern,  allow  me  to  appeal  to  facts.  Wha»  says  the  history  ot 
the  Christian  church  :nencement.  Kxamine  the  qualifica- 

tions of  its  original  foundeis.  We  hare  already  hinted  at  their  peculiar 
and  distinguishing  Advantages  and  pren»g  •  Miice 

bien  enjoyed  or  Who  succeeded  thrnii  Men  of  the  greatest 

learning  then  in  the  world.  Men  of  whom  th*  world  was  unworthy.  Me« 
\*ho  could  put  all  (irecian  and  all  Roman  sciei  ce  to  the  blush:  —  who  could 
mi  ei  ihe  aged  philosopher  and  the  wil\  sophist  on  their  own  ground:— 
Clemens,  Ignatius,  Pohcarp.  Justin,  Irei  xu>,  Tertullian,  Origen,  Cypnan, 
Eusebius.  Vilianasius,  U..sil,  (  hrysostom,  Lactantius,  Ambrose,  Jerome, 
Augustine,  and  a  hosi  of  m..m  i  s  and  fathers  too  numerous  to  meniion. 

\Vhen  learning  declined,  religion  degenerated.  \Vhen  learning  had  van- 
istud,  religion  was  nearly  extinct.  When  letters  revived,  religion  again 
flourished  and  assumed  a  purer  form 

\V  bo  were  the  first  to  discover,  expose,  refute,  condemn,  and  demolish 
the  papal  errors  and  the  papal  lyranin  ?  Who,  but  the  men  of  the  largest 
minds  and  the  greatest  learning?  Need  1  name  Wick  lift',  Huss,  Jerome  of 
Prague,  Luther,  Melanchlhon,  Calvin,  Latimer,  Ridley,  Cranmer,  Knox, 
and  a  bundled  others,  as  eminent  for  literature  as  religion;  for  integrity 
arid  courage  as  for  zeal  and  ardour  in  ihe  cause  of  truth  ,  who  nobly  dared 
to  stem  the  tonvni  which  had  nearly  deluged  the  Christian  world,  and 
neaily  buried  in  ruins  the  whole  Christian  fabnck  ? 

Shall  1  trace  the  pr<>givss  of  religion  from  tha'  bright  epoch  when  the 

Sun  ot  tbe  lieiormauou  first  rose  above  the  horizon  and  began  to  dispel  the 


91 

darkness  ofa  long  dismal  night  which  seemed  to  threaten  an  endless  dura- 
tion, down  to  the  present  time  ?  What  is  the  character  of  the  men  who  have 
lahoure  1  in  the  fiVld  and  on  the  battle-ground  with  most  efficiency  and  suc- 
cess ?  Who  have  written  books,  and  thundered  in  the  pulpit,  with  argument 
and  eloquence  irresistible  and  overwhelming?  Were  they  not  the  most 
acute,  best  disciplined,  most  profoundly  erudite  of  the  ages  in  which  they 
flourished  ?  Shall  I  come  nearer  to  your  own  times  and  to  your  own  doors  ? 
Shall  I  invoke  the  spirits  of  a  Hammond,  an  Owen,  a  Baxter,  a  Plavel,  a 
Stillingfleet,  a  Tillotson,an  Kliot,  a  Swartz,  a  John,  an  Rd wards,  a  D.tvi  s, 
a  Whitefield,  a  Horsley,  a  Porteus,  a  Huchannan,a  Witherspoon  ? — but  the 
catalogue  would  be  endlf  ss. 

Tlie  history  of  Christianity  is  a  triumphant  refutation  of  the  heresy  and 
the  slander  that  learning  is  unnecessary,  or  that  it  is  unfriendly  to  genuine 
religion.  It  exhibits  proof  most  positive  that  without  learning  nothing  has 
been  or  could  have  been  effected.  That  zeal  without  knowledge  leads  to 
fanaticism,  to  error,  to  superstition,  to  enthusiasm  ; — to  abuses  and  heresies 
the  most  absurd  and  abominable. 

On  this  topic  I  might  indulge  in  a  variety  of  illustration  from  facts.  I 
could  summon  your  attention  to  a  thousand  mournful  evidences  of  the 
danger  of  suffering  self-»ufBcient  aspiring  ignorance  to  obtrude  itself  into 
tile  direction  and  government  of  the  church. 

Commissioned  by  his  divine  Master  to  proclaim  glad  tidings  of  peace  to 
the  perishing:  he  labours  to  fulfil  the  object  of  his  env>assy  with  a 
zeal,  a  patience,  a  perseverance,  which  no  earthly  considerations  could 
inspire:  and  which  no  earthly  discouragements  or  difficulties  can  damp 
or  destroy. 

Is  he  an  enthusiast;  is  he  an  impostor?  There  may  be  enthusiasts; 
'Jiere  may  be  hypocrites;  there  may  be  wolves  in  sheep's  clothing  invested 
with  this  sacred  character.  But  what  then  ?  Does  th.s  fact  afford  any 
sound  argument  against  the  sincerity  and  good  faith  of  the  whole  body  of 
Christian  ministers  ?  What  gaoil  thing  is  there  in  the  universe  which  has 
not  been  abused  and  counterfeited'  What  wise  and  benevolent  institution 
has  ever  existed  free  from  contamination  and  perversion*  Sirange,  indeed, 
would  it  be,  if  religion:  if  the  Christian  religion:  and  the  ministers  of  this 
religion,  did  not  occasionally  share  the  corruption,  degeneracy,  and  abuse 
which  are  inseparable  from  all  things  here  below.  There  is  no  form  of 
virtue,  no  disguise  of  religion  which  has  not  been  assumed  as  a  conve- 
nient mask  for  the  worst  of  crimes.  And  this  fact  operates  with  no  less 
force  to  the  disadvantage  of  natural  religion;  of  natural  or  political  virtue; 
of  human  learning  and  wisdom  ;  and  of  every  thing  which  the  world  calls 
great  and  good  ;  than  it  does  to  the  disparagement  of  Christianity  and  its 
advocates.  This  species  of  argument  therefore  has  no  application  to  the 
case.  Or,  if  it  have,  it  would  equally  demolish  the  systems  of  the  sage 
and  the  moralist:  of  the  believer  and  the  infidel.  It  would  leave  us  nothing 
but  one  vast  wild  of  hideous  ruin  and  deformity  •  of  hopeless  misery  and 
wickedness.  Beware  then  of  this  subtile,  insinuating  exterminating  logick. 
It  is  unsound  and  illiberal.  And  none  but  the  enemies  of  truth  and  piety 
can  employ  it 

Christianity  is  the  only  system  of  religion  at  present  known  in  the  world 
which  can  lay  just  claims  to  a  heavenly  origin.  If  it  be  true,  its  own  infal- 
lible oracles  declare  the  appointment,  and  the  necessity  of  continuing  for- 
ever a  ministry  in  the  church.  And  how  can  this  ministry  be  perpetuated 
except  by  the  regular  education  ofa  competent  number  of  young  men  to 
supply  the  places  of  those  vacated  by  age,  infirmity,  and  death :  and  to 
meet  the  growing  demands  of  an  enlarged  and  dady  increasing  church  ? 
\Vhai  mode  of  education  can  be  devised  better  adapted  to  meet  these  wants, 
than  publick  seminaries  exclusively  devoted  to  this  object  under  the  spe- 


cial  superintendance  and  control  of  the  church  itself?  I  propose  tins  que* 
tion  whh  o  <*  rfrct  confidence  lhat  a  negative  reply  cannot  be  made  to  it;  and 
will  not  be  made  to  it,  by  the  wise,  the  judicious,  and  the  pious. 

The  exigency  of  the  case  su^ests  this  as  the  only  natural  and  efficient 
method  of  furnishing  an  adequate  supply  of  faithful  and  enlightened  pastors 
and  missionaries  for  the  vast  evangelized  and  unevangelized  reg-ons  of  this 
almost  boundless  continent :  whose  population  is  annually  augmenting  in  a 
ratio  which  confounds  ail  computation:  whose  spiritual  wants  of  course* 
are  multiplying  with  equal  rapidity:  and  to  a  degree,  which  almost  over- 
whelms -vith  'liscouragement  the  pious  philanthropist  while  contemplating 
this  great  moral  wilderness  which  is  scarcely  illumined  by  a  ray  of  gospel 
light.  Surely  it  is  time  for  the  friends  of  religion  and  humanity  to  awake 
from  'heir  slumbers,  and  to  put  forth  all  their  strength  in  one  grand  effort  to 
meliorate  the  condiuon  of  the  countless  thousands  of  our  ov  n  countr\ 
who  are  literally  perishing  for  lack  of  knowledge  :  yes,  at  this  moment  des- 
titute of  the  ordinary  means  of  grace; — without  bibles  and  without  minis- 
ters. 

There  is  now  a  grand  movement  in  the  camp  of  Israel.  Arise  and  come 
forth  to  the  help  of  the  Lord  aguinst  the  mighty. 

Behold  the  progress  of  heresy  and  infidelity  under  the  disguise  of  ra- 
tional Christianity.     See  the  artifice  of  the  great  destroyer  in  these  latter 
He  has  commissioned  his  emissaries  to  assume  the  garb  and  the 
functions  of  ;he  ministers  of  he  gospel,  i hat  they  may  'he  more  effectually 
sap  the  fou-:  the  whole  Christian  t-dilice.     He  has  enlis 

and  learning,  and  indefatigable  enterprise  in  this  work  of  desolation.     He 
has  taught  the  deistical  scoffer  at  revelation  to  step  a  little  aside  from  his 
omed  track  ;  and  to  come  forward  in  a  new  shape,  but  with  the  same 
malignant  hostility  against  the  truth.     He  is  now  willing  to  be  esteemed  a 
But  he  rejects  the  essential  divinity  of  the  Sa- 
viour ;    thf  depravity  of  human  nature;  the  doctrine  of  the  atonement, 
an  i  of  j unification  by  faith.— Or,  he  is  a  Christian  without  holding  one 
principle  of  the  chr.stian  religion  which  can  distinguish  it  from  the  reli- 
t  nature.     Mo-It- rn   unitarianism,  which  is  every  where  insinuating 
;>e  hearts  of  men  naturally  preiiisp:>sed  to  its  reception,  because 
d  to  the  natural  character  of  men,  is  more  to  be  dreaded 
than  u  y  ever  >  et  avowed.   It  is  a  deadly  enemy,  v 

ing  the  mask  and  the  name  of  a  friend. 


The  following  SERMON,  was  delivered  on  a  missionary  occa- 
sion, in  Tottenham-Conrt-Chapel,  LONDON,  62;  the  Rttfd. 
J.  M.  Mason,  I).  D.  late  provost  of  Columbia  College,  but 
now  President  of  Dickinson- College,  Carlisle,  (Penn.)  It 
is  with  no  ordinary  emotions  of  pleasure  that  it  is  presented 
to  the  public  in  this  compilation. — Jls  all  intelligent  and 
correct  reasoners  will  acknowledge,  thai  it  exhibits  the 
"truth  of  God,  and  the  way  to  eternal  life;"  and  persons 
of  refined  taste  will  find  it  to  be  one  of  the  most  interesting, 
splendid,  and  highly  finished  prc.'luctions  of  the  present  age. 
The  Compiler  will  only  add — let  students  in  divinity  eclipur 
i  in  their  power. 

MESSIAH'S  THRONE. 


HEB.  i.— 8  —  But  unto  the  Son,  he  saith,  Thy  Throne,  O  God,  is  for  ever  and  ever. 

IN'  the  all-important  argument  which  occupies  this  epistle, Paul  assumes, 
what  the  believing  Hebrews  had  already  professed,  that  Jesus  of  Nazareth 
is  the  true  Messiah.  To  prepare  them  for  the  consequences  of  their  own 
principle;  a  principle  involving  nothing  less  than  the  abolition  of  their  law, 
the  subversion  of  their  state,  the  ruin  of  their  city,  the  final  extinction  of 
their  carnal  hopes,  he  leads  them  to  ihe  doctrine  of  their  Redeemer's  per- 
son in  order  to  explain  the  nature  of  his  offices,  to  evince  the  value  of  his 
spiritual  salvation,  and  to  show,  in  both,  the  accomplishment  of  their  occo- 
nomy  which  was  •  now  ready  to  vanish  away '  Under  no  apprehension  of 
betraying  the  unwary  into  idolatrous  homage,  by  giving  to  the  Lord  Jesus 
greater  glory  than  is  'due  unto  his  name-,'  the  apostle  sets  out  with  as- 
cribing to  him  excellence  and  attributes  which  belong  to  no  creature.  Crea- 
tures of  most  elevated  rank  are  introduced;  but  it  is  to  display,  by  contrast, 
the  pre-eminence  of  Him  who  is  « the  brightness  of  the  Father's  glory,  and 
the  express  image  of  his  person.'  Angels  are  great  in  might,  and  in  dig- 
nity ;  but /unto  them  hath  he  not  put  in  subjection,  the  world  to  come. — 
Unto  which  of  them  said  he  at  any  time,  Thou  art  my  son  ?'  To  which  of 
them,  «  Sit  thou  at  my  right  hand  ?'  He  saith,  they  are  spirits,  «  ministering 
spirits,  sent  forth  to  «  minister  unto  them  who  are  tha  Heirs  of  salvation.' 
JBut  unto  the  SON,  in  a  style  which  annihilates  competition  and  comparison 
unto  the  SON  he  saith,  thy  throne,  O  GOD,  is  for  ever  and  ever. 

Brethren,  If  the  majesty  of  Jesus  is  the  subject  which  the  Holy  Ghost  se- 
lected for  the  encouragement  and  consolation  of  his  people,  when  he  was 
shaking  the  earth  and  the  heavens,  and  diffusing  his  gospel  among  the  na- 
tions ;  can  it  be  otherwise  than  suitable  and  precious  to  us  on  this  occasion  ? 
it  not  expand  our  views,  and  warm  our  hearts,  and  nerve  our  arm,  in 


94 

flur  efforts  to  exalt  his  fame  ?  Let  me  implore  then,  the  aid  of  your  prayers; 
but  far  more  importuna'ch  the  aids  of  his  ewn  Spirit,  \vhile  I  speak  of  "  the 
things  which  concern  the  king:'  those  great  things  contained  in  the  text — 
his  personal  Sflory — his  xov-reign  rule  — 

I.  Hi->  personal  glory  shines  forth  in  the  name  by  which  he  is  revealed  ;  a 
name  above  every  name,  TRY  throne — ()  < 

To  ihe  single  eye  nothing- can  be  more  evident,  in  tlie 

Firtt  nlace,  than  thai  the  Holy  Ghost  here  asserts  the  essential  deity  of  our 
Lord  Jesus  Christ.  Of  his  er.emjes,  whom  lie  will  «  make  his  footstool,* 
some  have,  indeed,  controverted  this  position,  and  endeavoured  to  blot  out 
the  text  from  the  catalogue  of  his  witnesses  Instead  of  '  thy  throne,  O  God;' 
they  would  compel  us  by  a  perversion  of  phraseology,  o»  figure,  and  ot  it 
to  read,  *  G  >d  is  thy  throne  ;'  converting  the  great  and  dreadful  God  into  a 
symbol  of  authority  in  one  of  his  own  creatures.  The  sc'iptures,  it  seems, 
may  utter  contradictions,  or  impiety,  hut  the  d.vmity  of  the  Son  they  shall  not 
attest  The  crown  however,  which  •  flourishes  on  his  head,'  is  not  to  be 
torn  away ;  nor  the  anchor  of  our  hope  to  be  wrested  from  us,  by  the  rude 
hand  of  licentious  criticism. 

I  cannot  find,  in  the  lively  oracles,  a  single  distinctive  mark  of  deity  which 
is  not  applied,  without  reserve  or  limitation,  to  the  only  begotten  Son.  *  All 
things  whatsoever  the  Father  hath,  are  AM.'  If'/to  is  that  mysterious  M  onu, 
that  was,  *in  the  beginning,  with  ne  '  Alpha  and  Omega,  the 

beginning  and  the  ending,  the  first  an  .  ht\?'  Who  is  he 

that  '  knou  >  man,'  because  he  searches  the  deep  and  dark  reces- 

ses of  the  heart?  Who  is  the  Omnipresent,  that  h:is  promised.  «  Wherever 
two  or  three  are  gathered  together  in  my  name,  there  am  I  in  the  midst  of 
them?'  the  light  of  whose  countenance  i-,  at  the  same  momen*,  the  joy  of 
heaven,  and  ^he  salvation  of  earth?  who  is  incircled  by  the  Seraphim  on  high, 
and  'walks  in  the  midst  of  the  golden  candlesticks:'  who  is  in  this  assem- 
bly; in  all  the  assemblies  of  bis  people'  in  evt-r\  worshipping  fiimiK?  in  every 
closet  of  prayer'  in  ev?ry  holy  heart  '  « ll'ho-e  h  mils  have  stretched  out  the 
heavens  and  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth"'1  If'hs  hath  replenished  them 
with  inhabitants,  and  garnished  them  with  beautv,  having  created  all  things 
that  are  in  both,  *  visible  and  invisible,  whether  they  he  thrones,  or  domini- 
ons, or  principalities,  or  powers''  By  whom  do  '  all  things  consist.'1  ll'ho  is 
•  the  governor  among  the  nations,  having  on  his  vesture  and  on  his  thigh  a 
name  written  'King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords.'  If  htm  is  it  the  Father's 
will  that  4all  men  should  honour,  even  as  they  honour  himself?  H'hom  has 
he  commanded  his  angels  to  worship?  whom  to  obey?  Before  -whom  do  the 
devils  tremble'  It' ho  is  qualified  to  redeem  millions  of  sinners  •  from  the 
wr.ith  to  come,'  and  preserve  them,  by  his  grace,  to  his  everlasting  kingdom? 
IT/io  raiseth  the  dead,  '  having  life  in  himself,  to  quicken  whom  he  will,'  so 
that  at  his  voice,  '  all  who  are  in  their  graves  shall  come  forth  ;— and  death 
and  hell'  surrender  their  numerous  and  forgotten  captives?  Wht  shall  weigh, 
in  the  balance  of  judgment,  the  destinies  of  angels  and  men'  dispose  of  the 
thrones  of  paradise  ?  and  bestow  eternal  life?  Shall  I  submit  to  the  decision 
of  reason'  Shall  I  ask  a  response  from  heaven'  Shall  1  summon  the  devils 
from  their  '  chains  of  darkness?*  The  response  from  heaven  sounds  in  my 
ears;  reason  approves,  and  the  devils  confess— This,  O  Christians,  is  none 
other  than  the  OREAT  GOD  our  Sivioun  ! 


93 

Indeed,  my  brethren,  the  doctrine  of  our  Lord's  divinity  is  not.  as  *facf+ 
more  interesting  to  out-  faith,  than,  as  a  principle,  it  is  essential  to  our  hope. 
If  he  were  not  '  the  true  God,'  he  could  not  be  'eternal  life.'  When  pres- 
sed down  by  guilt  and  languishing  for  happiness,  1  look  around  for  a  deliver- 
er such  as  my  conscience  and  my  heart  and  ihe  word  of  God  assure  me  I 
need,  insult  not  my  agony,  by  directing  me  to  a  creature — to  a  man,  a  mere 
man  like  myself!  A  creature  !  a  man  !  M\  Redeemer  owns  my  person  My 
immortal  spirit  is  his  property*  When  \  come  to  die,  I  must  commit  it  into 
his  hands.  My  soul!  My  infinitely  precious  soul  committed  to  a  mere  man! 
become  the  property  of  a  mere  man!  I  would  not,  thus,  entrust  my  body*  to 
the  highest  angel  who  burns  in  the  lemple  above.  It  is  only  the  *  Father  of 
spirits,'  that  can  have  property  in  spirits,  and  be  their  refuse  in  the  hour  of 
transition  from  the  present  to  the  approaching  world.  In  short,  my  breth- 
ren, the  divinity  of  Jesus,  is,  in  the  system  of  grace,  the  sun  to  which  all  ita 
parrs  are  subordinate,  and  all  their  stations  r-ter — which  binds  them  in  sacred 
concord;  and  imparts  to  them  their  radiance,  and  lite,  and  vigour  Take 
from  it  this  central  luminary,  and  the  glory  is  dep-tried — hs  holy  harmonica 
are  broken — The  elements  rush  to  chaos — The  light  of  salvation  is  extin- 
guished for  ever ! 

But  it  is  not  the  deity  of  the  Son,  simply  considered,  to  which  the  text 
confines  our  attention.  We  are  in  the 

Second  place  to  contemplate  it  as  subsisting  in  a  personal  union  with  the 
huimn  nature. 

Long  before  this  epis'le  was  written  had  he  'by  himself  purged  our  sins^ 
and  sat  down  at  the  riK'ht  hand  of  the  majesty  on  high.'  It  is,  therefore,  as 
manifested  in  the  ;ny  own  brother,  while  he  is  '  the  express 

image  of  the  I'm  ,M,'  as  the  Mediator  of  the  new  covenant,  that  he 

is  seated  on  the  throne.  Of  this  thro.ie,  to  winch  tin-  pretensions  of  a  crea- 
ture were  mail  and  blasphemous,  the  majesty  is,  indeed,  maintained  by  his 
divme  power;  but  the  foundation  is  laid  in  his  Mediatorial  chancier.  I 
need  not  prove  to  this  audience,  that  all  his  gracious  offices  and  all  his  re* 
deeming  work  originated  in  the  love  and  the  election  of  his  Father.  Obedi- 
ent to  that  will, which  fully  accorded  wiili  his  own, lie  came  down  from  heaven; 
tabernacled  in  our  clay  ;  was  '  a  man  or  sorrows  and  acquainted  with  griefs  ;* 
submitted  to  the  'contradictions  ot  sinners,'  the  temptations  of  the  old 
Serpent,  and  the  wrath  oi'an  avenging  God.  In  the  merit  of  his  obedience, 
which  threw  a  lustre  round  the  divine  law;  and  in  the  atonement  of  his 
death  by  which  '  he  ottered  himself  a  sacrifice  without  spot  unto  God,'  re- 
pairing the  injuries  of  man's  rebellion,  expiating  sin  through  the  blood  of  his 
cross  ;  and  conciliating  its  pardon  with  infinite  purity,  and  unalterable  truth  ; 
summarily,  in  his  performing  those  conditions  on  which  was  suspended  all 
God's  mercy  to  man,  and  all  man's  enjoyment  of  God,  in  these  stupendous 
<  works  of  righteousness*  are  we  to  look  for  the  cause  ot  his  present  glory 
'  He  humbled  himself  and  became  obedient  unto  death,  even  the  death  ot 
the  cross  ;  wherefore  God  also  hath  highly  exalted  him,  and  given  him  a 
name  which  is  above  every  name  ;  that  at  the  name  of  Jesus  every  knee 
should  bow,  of  things  in  heaven  and  things  in  earth,  and  things  under  the 
earth  ;  and  that  every  tongue  should  confess  that  Jesus  Christ  is  Lord,  to  the 
the  glory  of  God  Father.'  'Exalted,'  thus,  'to  be  a  Prince  and  a  Saviour, 
he  fills  heaven  with  his  beauty,  and  obtains  from  its  West  inhabitants,  th- 


purest  and  most  reverential  pr.i  "thy,'  ciy  the  mingled  voices  of 

his  angels  and  his  redeemed,  '  worthy  is  the  Lamb  t!. 

power,  and  riches,  and  wisdom,  and  strength,  and  honour,  and  glor\,  and 
blessing*  '  Worthy,'  again  cry  his  redeemed,  in  a  song  wh'ch  belongs  not 
to  the  angels  bu*  in  which  with  holy  ecstucy,  we  will  join,  •  i  thou, 

lor  thou  was  slain,  and  hast  redeemed  us  to  fiod  !  v  thy  bio 

Delightful,  brethren,  transcendently  delightful  were  it  to  dwell  upon  this 
theme.     But   we  must  refrain;  and  i  .-n  a  transient  glance  at  our 

IJedeemer's  personal  glory,  let  us  turn  to  the 

II    v',e\v  which  the  text  exhibits — the   view  of  1 
THHOSE,  O  God,  i$  for  tvei'  andever. 

The  ,1  kingdom  of  Christ  Jesus,  directed  and  upheld  by  his  diri- 

nity,  is  now  the  object  of  our  contemplation.     To  ad  vane-.  glory 

in  the  salration  of  men,  is  the  purpose  oi  its  erection      Th  ,5  ihc 

scene  and  human  life  the  limit,  of  the 
intero-  ;d  prepared  for  its  o>. 

its  provisions,   its  issues  are  eternal.     When  it  rises  up  h 
grandeur  of  design,  collecting  and  conducting  ..  mil- 

•  f  immortals,  in  com  ic  destruction  of 

the  material  universe  were  a  thir...  the  carnal  niiiiii 

-ent,  shniii.  >  nothing. 

i  the  nattir  -n  t'- 

.huttruihii,  and  the  /•  ien  to 

the  church  o 

10  is  not  one  of  t!  h  arr  reared  by  vanity 

and  overthrown  by  Time  :  it  is  fixed  of  old:  it  is  stable  and  cannot 

(I.)  It  is  the  throne  of'Gon.   He  who  sitteth  on 

n  his  hand.  king- 

dom,   .  i'  n.ean-n^.     Hi»e  un  in  l 

.th  thee  the  whole  m  ?h  the  ruin 

yf  wli  1  in  this  little  V  plucl: 

kin  out  of  his  place— and  roll  the  volume   of  di  i    thr 

iturrvworld---NVir.it  hast  thou  done  unto  him?  It  is  t  of  a 

worm  against    Him  whose  frown  is  perdition.     '  '  hea- 

vens shall  laugh  " 

(2-)  With   the  stability  which  '.Iicad  communicates  to  his 

throne,  let  us  connect  the  stability  result. ng  from  his  Kuther's  covenant. 

is  founded  not  merely  in  strength,  but  in  right,  liod  hath  laid 
the  government  upon  the  shoulder  of  his  holy  child  .lesus,  and  set  him  upon 
mount  Zion  as  his  king  for  ever.  He  has  promised,  and  s\\orn,  to  'build 
up  his  throne  to  all  generations;'  to  *  make  it  endure  «  of  heaven  * 

to  '  beat  down  his  foes  before  his  face,  and  plague  them  Uiat  hate  him  But 
my  faithfulness,'  adds  he,  'and  my  mercy  shall  be  with  him,  and  in  my  num" 
shall  his  horn  be  exalted.  Hath  he  said  it?  and  will  lie  not  do  it?  Hath  he 
spoken  it,  and  shrill  it  not  come  to  pass^  Whatever  disappointments  rebuke 
the  visionary  projects  of  men,  or  the  more  craf»\  schemes  of  Satan,  'the 
counsel  ot  the  Lord,  that  shall  stand.'  The  blood  ot  sprinkling,  which 
sd  all  the  pi  onuses  made  to  Messiah,  and  binds  doun  hi-  'uthfulness 

to  their  accomplishment,  witnesses  continually  in  the  heavenly  sanctu 


07 

f  He  must,'  therefore,  '  reign  till  he  have  put  all  his  enemies  under  his  feet.' 
And  although  the  dispensation  of  his  authority  shall,  upon  thi:>  event,  be 
changed;  and  he  shall  deliver  it  up,  in  its  present  form,  to  the  Father,  he 
shall  still  remain,  in  his  substantial  glory,  '  a  priest  upon  his  throne,'  to  be 
the  eternal  bond  of  our  union,  and  the  eternal  medium  of  our  fellowship,  with 
the  living  God. 

Seeing  that  the  throne  of  our  King  is  as  immovable  as  it  is  exalted,  let  us 
'with  joy  draw  water  out  of  that  well  of  salvation' which  is  opened  to  us  in  the 

Administration  of  his  kingdom.  Here  we  must  consider  its  general  charac- 
'crs,  and  the  means  by  which  it  operates. 

The  general  characters  which  I  shall  illustrate,  are  the  following. 

(1.)  Jlfy-ifent. — He  is  the  unsearchable  God,  and  his  government  must  be 
like  himself.  Facts  concerning  both,  he  has  graciously  revealed.  These  we 
must  admit  upon  the  credit  of  his  own  testimony;  with  these  we  must  satisfy 
our  wishes,  and  limit  ou;-  inquiry.  '  To  intrude  into  those  things  which  he 
hath  not  seen'  because  God  1ms  not  disclosed  them,  whether  they  relate  to 
his  arrangements  for  this  world  or  the  next,  is  the  arrog«*.ce  of  one  '  vainly 
puffed  up  by  his  fleshly  mind.'  There  are  secrets  in  our  Lord's  procedure 
which  he  will  not  explain  to  us  in  this  life,  and  which  may  not,  perhaps,  be  ex- 
plained in  the  life  to  come.  We  cannot  tell  how  he  make*,  rvil  the  minister 
of  good:  how  he  combines  physical  and  moral  agencies  of  different  kind  and 
order,  in  the  production  of  blessings.  We  cannot  so  much  as  conjecture 
what  bearings  the  system  of  redemption,  in  every  part  of  its  process,  may 
have  upon  the  relations  of  the  universe;  nor  even  what  may  be  all  the  connec- 
tions of  providence  in  the  occurrences  of  this  moment,  or  of  the  last.  *  Such 
knowledge  is  too  wonderful  tor  us!  it  is  high,  we  cannot  attain  it.'  Our  Sove- 
i-eign's  '  way  is  in  the  st-n.  and  his  path  in  the  deep  waters;  and  his  footsteps 
are  no!  known.'  When,  therefore,-  we  are  surrounded  with  difficulty;  when 
we  crmnot  unriddle  his  conduct  in  particular  dispensations,  we  must  remem- 
ber thut  he  is  God;  that  we  are  to  *  walk  by  faith;'  and  to  trust  him  as  im- 
plicitly.when  we  are  in  '  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  death,'  as  when  his  *  can- 
lie  shines  upon  our  heads.'— We  must  remember  thut  it  is  not  for  us  to  be 
admitted  into  the  cabinet  of  the  King  of  kings;  that  creatures  constituted  as 
we  are  could  not  sustain  the  view  of  his  unveiled  agency;  that  it  would  con- 
found, and  scatter,  and  annihilate  our  little  intellects.  As  often,  then,  as  he 
retires  from  our  observation,  blending  goodness  with  majesty,  let  us  lay  our 
hands  upon  our  mouths,  and  worship.  This  stateliness  of  our  King  can  afford 
us  no  just  ground  of  uneasiness.  On  the  contrary  it  contributes  to  our  tran- 
:juility:  For  we  know, 

(2.)  That  if  his  administration  is  mysterious,  it  is  also  wise- 

<  Great  is  our  Lord,  and  of  great  power;  his  understanding  is  infinite.' 
That  infinite  understanding  watches  over,  and  arranges,  and  directs  all  the 
affairs  of  his  church  and  of  the  world.  We  are  perplexed  at  every  step; 
embarrassed  by  opposition;  lost  in  confusion;  fretted  by  disappointment; 
r.nd  ready  to  conclude,  in  our  haste,  that  all  things  are  against  our  own  good 
and  our  Master's  honour.  But  '  this  is  our  infirmity;'  it  is  the  dictate  of 
impatience  and  indiscretion.  We  forget  the  *  years  of  the  right  hand  of  the 
Most  High.'  We  are  slow  of  heart  in  learning  a  lesson  which  shall  soothe 
our  spirits  at  the  expence  of  our  pride.  We  turn  away  from  the  consola- 
tion to  be  derived  from  believing  that  though  we  know  not  the  connections 

13 


98 

and  results  of  holy  providence,  our  Lord  Jesus  knows  them  perfectly, 
him  there  is  no  irregularity,  no  chance,  no  conjecture.  Disposed,  before  his 
eye,  in  the  most  luminous  and  exquisite  order,  »he  whole  series  ot  events 
occupy  the  very  place  and  crisis  where  they  are  most  effectually  to  subserve 
the  purposes  of  his  love.  Not  a  moment  of  time  is  wasted,  nor  a  fragment 
of  action  misapplied.  What  he  does,  we  do  not,  indeed,  know  at  present, 
but,  as  far  as  we  shall  be  permitted  to  know  hereafter,  we  shall  see  that  his 
most  inscrutable  procedure  was  guided  by  consummate  wisdom;  that  our 
choice  was  often  as  foolish  as  our  petulence  was  provoking;  that  the  ^uc 
cess  of  our  own  wishes  would  have  been  our  most  painful  chastisement: 
vould  have  diminishedour  happiness,  and  detracted  from  his  praise.  Let  us 
•tudy,  therefore,  brethren,  to  subject  our  ignorance  to  his  knowledge;  instead 
of  prescribing,  to  obey;  instead  of  questioning,  to  believe:  to  perform  our  part 
without  that  despondency  which  betrays  a  fear  that  onr  Lord  may  neglect 
his;  and  tacitly  accuses  him  of  a  less  concern  than  we  feel  tor  the  glory  of  his 
own  name.  Let  us  not  shrink  from  this  duty  as  imposing  too  rigorous  » 
condition  upon  our.,  obedience,  for  a 

(3.)  Character  of  Messiah's  administration  is  rightcoutnett.  «The  sceptre 
of  bis  kingdom  is  a  right  sceptre.'  It  «  Clouds  and  darkness  are  round 
about  him,  righteousness  and  judgment  are  the  habitation  of  his  throne.* 
In  the  times  of  old  his  redeemed  '  wandered  in  the  wilderness  in  a  solitary- 
way;  but,  nevertheless,  he  led  them  forth  by  the  right  way,  that  they  might 
go  to  a  city  of  habitation  '  He  loves  his  church  and  the  members  of  it  too 
tenderly  to  lay  upon  them  any  burdens,  or  expose  them  to  any  trials,  which 
tre  not  indispensible  to  their  good.  It  is  right  for  them  to  *  go  through 
fire,  and  through  water,'  that  he  may  « oring  them  out  into  a  wealthy  place' 
right  to « endure  chastening,'  that '  they  may  be  partakers  of  his  holiness'— right 
to  have  the  sentence  of  death  in  themselves/  that  they  may  •  trust  in  the  living 
God,  and  that  his  strength  may  be  perfect  in  their  weakness.'  It  is  right 
that  he  should  'endure  with  much  long  suffering  the  vessels  of  wrath  fitted 
to  destruction:'  that  he  should  permit  •  iniquity  to  abound,  the  love  of  many 
to  wax  cold,'  and  the  dangers  of  his  church  to  accumulate,  till  the  interpo- 
sition of  his  arm  be  necessary  and  decisive.  In  the  day  ,>f  final  retribution  not 
one  mouth  shall  be  opened  to  complain  of  injustice.  It  will  be  seen  that 
'  the  Judge  of  all  the  earth  has  done  right;  that  the  works  of  his  hands  have 
been  verity  and  Judgment,'  and  done,  every  one  of  them,  in  '  truth  and  up- 
rightness.' Let  us,  then,  think  not  only  respectfully  but  reverently  of  his 
dispensations,  repress  the  voice  of  murmur,  and  rebuke  the  spirit  of  discon- 
tent, wait,  in  faith  and  patience,  till  he  become  his  own  interpreter,  when 
'  the  heavens  shall  declare  his  righteousness,  and  all  the  people  see  his 
glory.' 

You  will  anticipate  me  in  enumerating  the  mecuis  which  Messiah  employs 
in  the  administration  of  his  kingdom. 

(1.)  The  Gospff;  of  which  himself,  as  an  all  sufficient  and  condescending 
Saviour,  is  the  ^reat  and  affecting  theme.  Derided  by  the  world,  it  is, 
nevertheless,  effectual  to  the  salvation  of  them  who  believe.  '  We  preach 
Christ  crucified,  to  the  Jews  a  stumbling-block,  and  to  the  Greeks  foolish- 
ness; but  to  the.n  who  are  called,  both  Jews  and  Greeks,  Christ  the  power 
of  God,  and  the  wisdom  of  God.'  The  doctrine  of  the  cross  connected  with 
evangelical  ordinances— the  ministry  of  reconciliation;  the  holy  sabbath;  the 


99 

Ments  ofhis  covenant:  briefly,  the  whole  system  of  instituted  worship, 
is  the  '  rod  of  the  Redeemer's  strength*  by  which  he  subdues  sinners  to 
fcimself;  rules  even  «in  the  midst  ofhis  enemies;'  exercises  his  glorious  au- 
thority in  his  church,  and  exhibits  a  visible  proof  to  men  and  angels,  that  he 
Is  King1  in  !2ion. 

(2  )  The  efficient  means  to  which  the  gospel  owes  its  success,  and  the 
name  of  Jesus  its  praise,  is  the  agency  of  the  Holy  Ghost. 

Christianity  is  *  the  ministration  of  the  Spirit.*  All  real  and  sanctify -r 
ing  knowledge  of  the  truth  and  love  of  God  is  from  his  inspiration.  It  was 
the  last,  and  best  promise  which  the  Saviour  made  to  his  afflicted  disciples 
at  the  moment  of  parting,  *  I  will  send  the  Comforter,  the  Spirit  of  truth; 
lie  shall  glorify  me,  for  he  shall  take  of  mine  and  shall  show  it  unto  you.' 
It  is  he  who  convinces  the  world  of  sin,  of  righteousness,  and  ot  judgment'— 
who  infuses  resistless  vigour  into  means  otherwise  weak  and  useless.  *  For 
the  weapons  of  our  warfare  are  not  Carnal,  but  mighty  through  God,'  God 
the  Spirit,  '  to  the  pulling  down  of  strong  holds '  Without  his  benediction 
the  ministry  of  an  archangel  would  never '  convert  one  sinner  from  the  error 
ofhis  way.'  But  when  he  descends,  with  his  life-giving  influence  from  God 
jut  of  heaven,  then  *  foolish  things  of  the  world  confound  the  wise;  and  weak 
tilings  of  the  world  confound  the  things  which  are  mighty;  and  base  things 
of  the  world,  and  things  which  are  despised,  yea,  and  things  which  are  not, 
bring  to  nought  things  which  are.'  It  is  this  ministration  of  the  Spirit  which 
renders  the  preaching  of  the  gospel  to  '  men  dead  in  trespasses  and  sins'  a 
reasonable  service.  When  I  am  set  down  in  the  *  valley  of  vision,'  and  view 
the  bones,  '  very  many  and  very  dry,'  and  am  desired  to  try  the  effect  of  my 
Own  ability  in  recalling  them  to  lite,  I  will  fold  my  hands  and  stand  mute  in 
astonishment  and  despair.  But  when  the  Lord  God  commands  me  to  speak 
in  nis  name,  my  closed  lips  shall  be  opened;  when  he  calls  upon  '  the  breath 
from  the  four  winds  to  breathe  upon  the  slain  that  they  may  live,'  I  will  pro- 
phesy without  fear,—  «  O  ye  dry  bones,  Hear  the  word  of  the  Lord,'  and, 
obedient  to  his  voice,  they  *  shall  come  together,  bone  to  his  bone;  shall  be 
covered  with  sinews  and  flesh;'  shall  receive  new  life:  and  'stand  up  upon  their 
feet,  an  exceeding  great  army-'  In  this  manner,  from  the  graves  of  nature, 
and  the  dry  bones  of  natural  men,  does  the  Holy  Spirit  recruit  the  '  armies  of 
the  living  God.'  and  make  them,  collectively  and  individually,  '  a  name,  and 
a  praise,  and  a  glory,'  to  the  '  Captain  of  their  salvation.' 

(3  )  Among  the  instruments  which  the  Lord  Jesus  employs  in  the  adminis- 
tration ofhis  government,  are  the  resources  of  the  physical  and  moral  -world. 

Supreme  in  heaven  and  in  earth,  '  upholding  all  things  by  the  word  ofhis 
power,'  the  universe  is  his  magazine  of  means .  Nothing  which  acts,  or  exists, 
is  exempted  from  promoting,  in  its  own  place,  the  purposes  of  his  kingdom. 
Beings  rational  and  irrational;  animate  and  inanimate;  the  heavens  above  and 
the  earth  below;  the  obedience  of  sanctified,  and  the  disobedience  of  unsano 
tified  men;  all  holy  spirits;  all  damned  spirits:  in  one  word,  every  agency, 
every  element,  every  atom,  are  but'  the  ministers  of  his  will,  and  concur  in 
the  execution  ofhis  designs.  And  this  he  will  demonstrate  to  the  confusion 
ofhis  enemies,  and  the  joy  ofhis  people,  in  that  «  great  and  terriable  day* 
when  he  '  shall  sit  upon  the  throne  of  his  glory,'  and  dispense  ultimate  judg- 
ment to  the  quick  and  the  dead. 

Upon  these  hills  of  holiness,  the  stability  of  Messiah's  Throne,  and  the 


100 

perfect  ach;  -  kingdom,  let  us  take  our  station,  and  survey  the 

Prospects  which  rise  up  before  the  Church  of  (iod. 

\\hen  I  look  upon  the  magnificent  scene,  I  cannot  repress  the  salutation, 
Hail  thou  that  urt  highly  favoured1' 

She  has  the  prospect  of  preservation,  of  increase,  and  of  triumph. 

(1  )  The  prospect  ol  preservation. 

The  long  existence  of  the  Christian  church  would  be  pronounced,  upon 
common  principles  of  reasoning,  impossible.     She  finds  in  even-  mar, 
tural  and  inveterate  enemy.     To  encounter  and  overcome  the  unanimou* 
tility  of  the  world,  she  boasts  no  political  stratagem,  no  disciplined  legions, 
no  outward  coercion  of  any  kind.     Vet  her  expectation  is  that  she  shall  live 
for  ever.    To  mock  this  hope,  and  blot  out  her  memorial  from  under  heaven, 
the  most  furious  efforts  of  fanaticism,  the  most  ingenious  arts  of  statesmen, 
the  concentrated,  strength  of  empires,  have  been  frequently  and  persevering 
ly  applied.  The  blood  of  her  sons  ^nd  her  daughters  ha«  streamed  like  water, 
the  smoke  ot  the  d  the  stake,  \v!,  on  the  crown  of  mar- 

tyrdom in  the  cause  of  Jesus,  lias  ascended  in  thick  volumes  to   the 
The  tribes  of  persecution  have  sported  over  her  uoes,  and  erected  monun 
as  they  imagined,  of  her  perpetual  ruin.  But  where  are  her  tyrants,  and  \ 
their  empires?  the  tyrants  have  long  since  gone  to  their  own   place; 
names  have  descended  upon  the  roll  of  infamy;  their  empires   have  passed, 
like  shadows  over  the  rock— they  have  successively  disappeared,  and  left  not 
a  trace  behind! 

Hut  what  became  of  the  church?  She  rose  from  her  ashes  f-esh  in  beauty 
and  in  might.  Celestial  glory  beamed  around  her;  she  dashed  down  the 
monumental  marble  ot  her  foes,  and  they  who  hated  her  fled  before  her.  She 
has  celebrated  the  funeral  of  kings  and  kingdoms  that  plotted  her  destruc- 
,u-  inscriptions  ot  their  pride,  has  transmuted  to  posterity  the 
record  of  their  shunne.  How  shall  this  phenomenon  be  explained?  We  are 
at  the  present  moment,  witnesses  of  the  fact;  but  w.  o  can  unfold  the  myste- 
ry.This  blessed  book,  the  book  of  truth  and  life,  has  made  our  wonder  to  cease. 
«TBE  LORI  MIGHTT.'  His  presence  is  a  foun- 

tain of  health,  and  his  protection  a  *wtdl  ot  fire.'    He  has  betrothed  her,  in 
eternal  covenant,  to  himself.     Her  living  head,  in  wuom  slu  hove, 

and  his  quickening  Spirit  shall  never  depart  from  her.  Armed  \virh  Divine 
virtue,  his  gospel,  secret,  silent,  unobserved,  enters  the  hearts  of  men  and 
sets  up  an  everlasting  kingdom.  It  eludes  all  the  vigilence,  and  baffle-  all 
the  power,  of 'he  adversary.  Bars,  and  bolts,  and  dungeons  are  no  obstacle 
to  its  approach:  Bonds,  and  tortures,  and  death  cannot  extinguish  its  influ- 
ence. Let  no  man's  heart,  tremble,  then,  because  of  fear.  Let  no  man  des- 
pair, in  these  days  of  rebuke  and  blasphemy,  of  the  Christian  cause, 
ark  is  launched,  indeed,  upon  the  floods;  the  tempest  svreeps  along  the  deep; 
the  billows  break  over  her  on  every  side.  But  Jehovah-Jesus  has  promised 
to  conduct  her  in  safety  to  the  haven  of  peace-  She  cannot  be  lost  unless  the 
pilot  perish.  \\'\i\  then  do  the  heathen  rage,  and  the  people  •  imagine  a 
vain  tiling?'  H/ar,  O  Zion,  the  word  of  thy  God,  and  rejoice  for  the  conso- 
lation. '  No  weapon  that  is  formed  against  thee  shall  prosper,  and  even- 
tongue  that  shall  rise  against  thee  in  judgment  thou  shalt  condemn.  This  is 
the  heritage  of  the  servants  of  the  Lord,  and  their  righteousness  is  of  me 
saith  the  Lord.' 


101 

Merc  preservation,  however,  though  a  most  comfortable,  is  not  the 
hope  of  the  Church;  she  Iris 

(2.)  The  prospect  of  increase. 

Increase — from  an  effectual  blessing  upon  the  means  of  grace  in  places 
\vhere  they  are  already  enjoyed:  tor  thus  saith  the  Lord,  'I  will  pour  water 
upon  him  that  is  thirsty,  and  floods  upon  the  dry  ground:  1  will  pour  my 
spirit  upon  thy  seed,  and  my  blessing  upon  thine  offspring;  and  they  shall 
spring  up  as  among  tlie  grass,  as  willows  by  the  water  courses.' 

Increase — from  the  diffusion  of  evangelical  truth  through  Pagan  lands. 
4  For  behold,  the  darkness  shall  cover  the  earth,  and  gross  darkness  the  peo- 
ple; but  the  Lord  shall  arise  upon  thee,  and  his  glory  shall  bo  seen  upon  thee. 
And  the  Gentiles  shall  come  to  thy  light,  and  kings  to  the  brightness  of  thy 
rising.  Lift  up  thine  eyes  round  about  and  see:  all  they  gather  themselves 
together,  they  come  to  thee:  thy  sons  shall  come  '.'.  >m  far,  and  thy  daughters 
tthall  l>e  nursed  at  thy  side.  Then  thou  shall  see,  and  flow  together,  and 
thine  heart  shall  fear,  and  be  enlarged;  because  the  abundance  of  tUe  sea  shall 
be  converted  unto  thee,  the  forces  of  the  Gentiles  shall  come  unto  thee.' 

Increase — from  the  recovery  of  the  rejected  .Tews  to  the  faith  and  privileges 
of  God's  dear  children.  '  Blindness  in  part  lias  happened  unto  Israel' — they 
have  been  cut  off,  for  their  unbelief,  from  the  olive  tree.  Age  has  followed 
age,  and  they  remain  to  this  hour,  spread  over  the  face  of  the  earth,  a  fear- 
ful and  affecting  testimony  to  the  truth  of  God's  word.  They  are  without 
their  sanctuary,  without  their  Messiah,  without  the  hope  of  their  believing  an> 
cestors.  But  it  shall  not  be  always  thus.  They  are  still  beloved  for  the  Fa- 
ther's sake.'  When  the  *  fullness  of  the  Gentiles  shall  come  in,'  they  too  shall 
be  gathered,  They  shall  discover,  in  our  Jesus,  the  marks  of  the  promised 
Messiah;  and  with  tenderness  proportioned  to  their  former  insensibility,  shall 
cling  to  his  cross.  (.  n  into  their  own  olive  tree,  'all  Israel  shall 

be  saved.'  It  was  « through  their  fall  that  salvation  came  unto  us  Gentiles.' 
And, '  if  the  casting  away  of  them  IK-  the  reconciling  of  the  world,  what  shall 
the  receiving  of  them  be  but  life  from  the  dead?'  What  ecstacy,  my  brethren' 
the  Gentile  and  the  Jew  taking  '  sweet  counsel  together,  and  going  to  the 
house  of  God  in  company!'  the  path  of  the  swift  messenger  of  grace  marked, 

sry  direction,  by  the  'fulness  of  the  blessing  of  the  gospel  of  Christ' 
4  a  nation  born  at  once' — the  children  of  Zion  exclaiming,  '  The  place  is  too 
strait  for  me:  give  place  to  me  that  I  may  dwell.'     The  knowledge  of  Jeho- 
vah overspreading  the  earth  « as  the  waters  cover  the  seaj'  and  all  flesh  enjoy- 
ing the  salvation  of  God! 

This  faith  ushers  in  a 

(3  )  Prospect  of  the  Church— the  prospect  of  triumph. 

Though  often  desolate,  and  «  afflicted,  tossed  with  tempest  and  not  com- 
forted,' the  Lord  her  God  will  then  «  make  her  an  eternal  excellency,'  and 
repay  her  sorrows  with  triumph.— 

Triumph — in  complete  victory  over  the  enemies  who  sought  her  hurt. 
«  the  nation  and  kingdom,'  saith  the  Lord,  <  that  will  not  serve  thee  shall 
perish;  yea  those  nations  shall  be  utterly  wasted.— The  sons  also  of  them  that 
afflicted  thee  shall  come  bending  unto  thee;  and  all  they  that  despised  thee 
shall  bow  themselves  down  at  the  soles  of  thy  feet;  and  they  shall  call  thee 
the  city  of  the  Lord,  the  Zion  of  the  Holy  One  of  Israel. '  That  great  enemy 
of  her  purity  and  her  peace,  who  shed  the  blood  of  her  saints  and  her  pro- 


10* 

,  ihe  MA*  OF  '  Sis  who  has  exalted  himself  above  all  that  is  called  Coil,' 
•hall  appeur,  in  the  whole  horror  of  his  dodm  as  the  «  son  of  perdition,  whom 
the  Lord  shall  consume  with  the  spirit  of  his  mouth,  and  shall  destroy  with 
the  brightness  of  his  coming.'  The  terrible,  but  jo\ous  event  shull  be  an- 
nounced by  an  angel  from  heaven  'crying  mightily  with  a  strong1  voice,  Baby- 
lon the  great  is  fallen,  is  fallen!"  ALLELVIA,'  shall  be  the  response  of  the 
Church  universal,  Salvation,  and  glory,  and  honour,  and  power,  unto  the  Lord 

•  nir  GnH,  «  for  true  and  righteous  are  his  judgments;  for  he  hath  judged  the 
great  whore  which  did  corrupt  the  earth  with  her  fornication,  and  hath  aveng- 
ed the  blood  of  his  servants  at  her  hand1'  Then,  too,  '  the  accuser  of  the  bre- 
thren'—' that  old  serpent  which  is  the  Devil/   shall   be   cast  down,   « and 
hound  a  thousand  years  that  he  shall  deceive  the  nations  no  more* — This 
will  introduce  the  Chu 

Triumph— in  the  prevalence  of  righteousness  and  peace  throughout  the 
world. 

'  Her  people  shall  be  all  righteous.'  The  voice  of  the  blasphemer  shall  no 
longer  insult  her  ear.  Iniquity  as  ashamed  shall  stop  its  mouth,  and  hide  its 
head.  '  All  her  officers  shall  be  peace,  and  all  her  exactors,  righteousness.' 

*  The  kings  of  the  earth  bringing  their  glory  and  honour  unto  her,'  shall  ac- 
complish the  gracious  promise,  '  The  mountains  shall  bring  peace  to  the 
people,  and  the  little  hills  by  righteousness.'     Her  prince  whose  throne  is 
for  ever  and  ever,  «  shall   udge  among  the  nations,  and  shall  rebuke  many  peo- 
ple; and  they  shall  beat  their  swonls  into  plow-shares,  and  their  spears  int» 
pruning  hooks:  nation  shall  not  lift  up  sword  against  nation,   neither   shall 
they  learn  war  any  more!'  Kvery  man  shall  meet,  in  every  oilier  man,  a  bro- 
ther without  dissimulation.     Fear   and  the  sword  shall  be  far  away,  '  they 
shall  sit  every  man  under  his  vine,  and  under  his  fig-tree,  and  none  shall  make 
them  afraid.'     For  thus  saith  the  Lord,   •  Violence  shall  no  more  be  heard 
in  thy  land,  wasting  nor  destruction  within  thy  borders;  but  thou  shall  call 

^alvation,  and  On  .ise.' 

:mph— in  the  presence  of  God,  in  the  communion  of  his  love,  and  the 
signal  manifestation  of  his  glory.  *  Behold  the  tabnernacle  of  God  shall  be 
with  men,  and  he  will  dwell  with  them,  and  they  shall  be  his  people,  and 
11  be  wi'h  them,  and  be  their  G(xl.'  Then  shall  be  seen, 
•the  holy  Jerusalem  descending  out  of  heaven  from  God,'  which  'shall 
no  need  of  the  sun,  neither  of  the  moon,  to  shine  in  it;  for  the  glory  of 
God  shall  lighten  it,  and  the  Lamb  shall  be  the  light  thereof.  And  the  na- 
tions of  them  which  are  saved  shall  w:ilk  in  the  light  of  it,— and  they  shall 
bring  the  glory  and  honour  of  the  nations  into  it;  and  there  shall  in  no  wise 
enter  into  it  any  thing  that  defileth,  neither  whatsoever  worketh  abomination, 
or  maketh  a  lie:  but  thev  which  are  written  in  the  Lamb's  book  of  life.' 

Such,  according  to  the  sure  word  of  prophecy,  will  be  the  triumphs  of 
Christianity:  and  to  this  issue  all  scriptural  efforts  to  evangelize  the  heathen 
contribute  their  share  That  mind  is  profane,  indeed,  which  repels  the  sen- 
timent of  awe;  and  hard  is  the  heart  which  feels  no  bland  emotion — But  let 
us  pause — You  exult  perhaps,  in  the  view  of  that  happiness  which  is  reserv- 
ed for  the  human  race;  you  long  for  its  arrival;  and  are  eager,  in  your  place, 
to  help  on  the  gracious  work.  It  is  well.  But  are  there  no  heathen  in  this 
assembly  •?  Are  there  none  who,  in  the  midst  of  their  zeal  for  foreign  missions, 
ir  own  souls;  nor  consider  that  they  themselves  '  neglect  the  great 


103 

Salvation?'  Remember,  my  brethren,  that  a  man  may  be  active  in  measured 
which  si. all  subserve  the  conversion  of  others,  and  yet  perish  in  his  own  ini 
quity  That  very  gospel  which  you  desire  to  send  to  the  Heathen,  must  be 
the  gospel  of  your  salvation;  it  must  turn  yon  from  darkness  to  light,  from 
the  power  ot  Satan  unto  God;'  it  must  make  yon  *  meet  for  ihe  inheritance 
of  the  saints,*  or  it  shall  fearfully  aggravate  your  condemnation  at  last. 
You  pray,  '  Thy  kingdom  come.'  But  is  the  'kingdom  of  God  within  you?9 
Is  the  Lord  Jesus  '  in  you,  the  hope  of  glor>?'  Be  not  deceived.  The  name 
of  Christian  will  not  save  you.  Better  had  it  been  for  you  '  not  to  have 
known  the  way  of '  righteousness'— better  to  have  been  the  most  idolatrous 
Pagan—better,  infinitely  better,  not  to  have  been  born,  than  to  die  strangers 
to  the  pardon  of  the  Redeemer's  blood,  and  the  sanctifying  virtue  of  his  Spirit. 
From  his  throne  on  high  he  calls;  calls,  my  brethren  to  you,  '  Look  unto  me, 
and  be  ye  saved,  for  I  am  God,  and  there  is  none  else.  Seek  ye  the  Lord, 
while  he  may  be  found;  call  ye  upon  him  while  he  is  near;  Let  the  wicked 
forsake  his  way;  and  the  unrighteous  man  his  thoughts;  and  let  him  return 
unto  the  Lord,  and  he  will  have  mercy  upon  him;  and  to  our  God,  for  he  will 
abundantly  pardon.' 

On  the  other  hand,  such  as  have  «  fled  for  refuge  to  lay  hold  on  the  hope 
set  before  them,'  are  commanded  to  be  'joyful  in  their  king.'  He  reigns,  O 
believer,  for  thee.  The  stability  of  his  throne  is  thy  safety.  The  administration 
of  his  government  is  for  thy  g  >od;  and  the  precious  pledge  that  he  '  will  per- 
fect that  which  concerneth  thee.'  In  all  thy  troubles  and  in  all  thy  joy 
'commit  thy  way  unto  him.'  Fie  will  guard  the  sacred  deposit.  Fear  not 
that  thou  shall  '  lack  any  good  thing'— Fear  not  that  thou  shalt  be  forsaken 
—Fear  not  that  thou  shait  fall  beneath  the  '  arm  of  the  oppressor.'  •  He  went 
through  the  fires  of  the  pit  to  sa-ce  thee;  and  he  will  stake  all  the  glories  of 
his  crovrn  to  keep  thee.'  S'  .ig,  then,  thou  beloved,  '  Behold,  Cud  is  my  sal. 
ration;  I  will  trust,  and  not  be  afraid;  for  the  Lord  Jehovah  is  my  strength 
and  my  song;  he  also  is  become  my  salvation.' 

And  if  we  have  '  tasted  that  he  is  gracious:'  if  we  look  back  with  horror 
and  transport  upon  the  wretchedness  and  the  wrath  which  we  have  esc: 
with  what  anxiety  shall  we  not  hasten  to  the  aid  of  our  fellow  men,  who  are 
'sitting  in  the  region  and  shadow  of  death'  What  zeal  will  be  too  ardent; 
what  labour  too  persevering;  what  sacrifice  too  costly,  if,  by  any  means,  we 
may  tell  them  of  Jesus,  and  the  resurrection,  and  the  life  eternal!  Who  shall 
be  daunted  by  difficulties,  or  deterred  by  discouragement?  If  but  one  Pagan 
should  be  brought,  savingly,  by  your  instrumentality,  to  the  knowledge  of 
God,  and  the  kingdom  of  heaven,  will  you  not,  my  brethren,  have  an  ample 
recompence?  Is  there  here  a  man  who  would  give  up  all  for  lost  because  some 
favourite  hope  has  been  disappointed?  or  who  regrets  the  worldly  substance 
which  he  has  expended  on  so  divine  an  enterprise?  Shame  on  thy  coward 
spirit  and  thine  avaricious  heart!  Do  the  Holy  Scriptures,  does  the  experi- 
ence of  ages,  does  the  nature  of  things  justify  the  expectation,  that  we  shall 
carry  war  into  the  central  regions  of  delusion  and  crime,  without  opposition, 
without  trial?  Show  me  a  plan  which  encounters  not  fierce  resistance  from 
the  Prince  of  Darkness  and  his  allies  in  the  human  heart,  and  I  will  show  you 
a  plan  which  never  came  from  the  inspiration  of  God.  If  Missionary  effort 
suffer  occasional  embarrassment:  if  impressions  on  the  heathen  be  less  speedy, 
and  powerful,  and  extensive;  than  fond  wishes  have  anticipated;  If  particular 


101 

n  great  system  of  operation  be,  at  times,  disconcerted:  if  i 
the  '  ministers  of  grace'  fall  a  sacrifice  to  the  violence  of  those  whom  they  go 
to  bless  'in  the  name  of  the  Lord;'  these  are  events  which  ought  to  exercise 
tience;  to  wean  us  from  self-sufficiency;  to  teach  us  where 
where  our  dependence  must  be  fixed;  but  not  to  enfee- 
ble hope,  nor  relax  diligence,     Let  us  not  'despise  the  day  of  small  things.' 
I^et  us  not  overlook,  -as  an  unimportant  matter,  the  very  existence  of  that 
t  which  has  already  awakened  Christians  in  different  coun- 
tries from  their  long  and  dishonourable  slumbers,  and  bids  fair  to  produce, 
in  due  season,  *  a  general  movement  of  the  church  upon  earth.'     Ix?t  us  not, 
for  one  ir.itant,  harbour  the  ungracious  thought,  that  the  prayers,  and  tears, 
and  wrestlings  of  those  who  '  make  mention  of  the  Lord,'  form  no  link  in  that 
vast  c  its  by  which  he  '  will  establish,  and  will  make  Jerusalem  a 

•  in  the  earth.'      :  u  which  of  all  others  is  most  repn 

I  blood,'  the  violent  death  of  faithful  Missionaries,  should  ani- 
mate '  -,ew  resolu  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord  U 
the  death  of  liis  -  :  :.e  cry  of  martyred  blood  ascends  the  heave 
enters  into  the  ear*  of  the  1  'It  will  give  him  no  rest  till  he 
lown  righteousness*  upon  the  land  where  it  has  been  shed,  and  which  it 
has  sealed  as  a  future  conquest  for  him  who  *inh  :  .Jes  prosperous- 
ly because  of  truth,  and  meekness,  and  righteousness.' 

For  the  world,  indeed;  and  perhaps  for  the  church,  many  calamities  and 
trials  are  in  store,  before  the  glory  of  the  Lord  shall  be  so  revealed,  that '  all 
flesh  shall  see  it  together,  '  I  will  shake  all  nations/  is  the  divine  declaration, 
( I  will  shake  all  nations;  and  the  desire  of  all  nations  shall  come.'  The  vials  of 
wrath  which  are  now  running,  and  others  which  remain  to  be  poured  out, 
must  be  exhausted.  The  '  supper  of  the  greut  God,'  must  be  prepared,  and 
his  '  strange  work,'  have  its  course.  Yet  the  Missionary  cause  must  ultimately 
succeed  It  is  the  cause  of  God,  and  shall  prevail.  The  days,  O  brethren,  roll 
rapidly  on,  when  the  shout  of  tli  11  the  thunder  of  the  Conti- 

nent: when  the  Thames  and  the  Dunulx?,  when  the  Tiber  and  the  Hhine,  shall 
call  upon  Euphrates,  the  Ganges,  and  the  Nile;  and  the  loud  concert  shall 
be  joined  by  the  Hudson,  th  pi,  and  the  Amazon,  singing  with  one 

heart  and  one  \oice,  Alleluia!  Salvation!  The  Lord  God  omnipotent  reigneth 
v,rt  one  another  with  this  faith,  and  with  these  words. 

essed  be  the  Lord  God,  the  God  of  Israel,  who  only  doeth  won- 
drous things.     And  blessed  be   his  glorious  name  for  ever:  And  IT.T 
;:AHTU  BE  riiLM  WITU  HIS  GioRi!  Amen!  and  Amen!' 


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